


Invincible

by Eva Grimm (elusivetruth)



Series: Inverse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Amputation, Drama, F/M, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, Romance, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Transgender, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 130,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusivetruth/pseuds/Eva%20Grimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark was born different than other kids his age; he had a boy's body, but she knew she was really a girl. As an adult, Megan Stark's world is turned upside down while on a trip in Afghanistan. Now she is forging her life into something new — something invincible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Love and Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit.
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

**Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Prologue: Love and Arms_

“The world is always ready to receive talent with open arms. Very often it does not know what to do with genius.”

Oliver Wendell Holmes

* * *

**Thursday, May 29th, 1986 @ 11:49a | Stark Residence**

Howard Stark was having a bad morning. By all accounts, it should have been a good morning, albeit a busy one, since it was his son’s sixth birthday. The guests would be arriving any minute, and everything was in place: A couple of tables stood end-to-end, each spot decked with red paper plates, white plastic silverware, and a gold napkin, Tony’s favorite colors. A separate table was set aside and buried under enough snack food to sate a horse.

Howard blinked at the thought. “A horse? I need to get rid of that Speak-and-Spell, or Tony’s going to drive me crazy sooner or later.”

After a moment’s pause, he continued his inspection of the party area, trying to suss the problem. The drink table was a picture of perfection, covered in juice boxes, all strawberry flavored. Howard knew the guests would think it was odd, but Tony was picky, and Maria wanted everything to be _perfect_ for her “little one.” Howard cringed as he thought back to a time when he tricked Tony into drinking cranberry juice. Tony, ever the smart kid, had noticed the juice was a darker red than he was used to and initially refused to drink it. He eventually tried it, but only after his father had reassured him the drink was similar to strawberry juice ( _“Strawberries are red, right, Tony? Well, this is a different red berry.”_ ). Naturally, the moment the bitter juice had touched Tony’s tongue, it reversed course and graced Howard’s shirt rather than Tony’s stomach.

With a final glance over the room, Howard nodded to himself.

“Everything's ready,” he said aloud, to no one in particular. Of course it was all ready. Maria would have moved heaven and earth to make it _perfect_. Not that she had to, given how diminutive the guest list was. Tony wasn't exactly a social creature.

“But are _you_ ready?” Howard shivered with pleasure as his beloved Maria's slender arms slid around his middle and squeezed him lightly. Thirty-one years. They'd been married for thirty–one years, and she still made his heart sing. Well, she made many things “sing,” but he curbed that train of thought quickly. He didn't relish the idea of a guest accidentally seeing his... equipment.

Howard opened his mouth to reassure Maria, but no words came out. “Of course I am,” he could have said. “Why wouldn't I be?” he wanted to reply.

But it was no use — Maria had always known when he was bothered. Hell, she'd been able to back before they began dating. Back before they lost the Captain. Back before the Curtain fell. God, back before so many things. The War was without a doubt the most horrific period of his life, but it was the most exciting one too.

Working with S.H.I.E.L.D. had been his breakthrough. When he first started, he had so many dreams, and it had been so frustrating to see them unfulfilled. His biggest success before the War had been a flying car. A flying car! It worked really, really well — for the first five seconds, anyway. It wasn't long after that when Dr. Erskine sucked him into S.H.I.E.L.D. and, if he was honest with himself, the rest of his life. A life filled with enough government contracts to truly fund R&D. A life filled with exciting people like Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, and Maria Stark née Carbonell. War was the simple life: get paid to stop the bad people and save the world.

Howard broke free of his reminiscing long enough to whisper a reply, “Not really.”

Maria softly replied with a soft, “I thought as much.” Howard started to unconsciously scrutinize the room for a problem, any problem. Finding none ( _"_ _Perfect!"_ ), he finally gave up on ignoring the real problem and grimaced.

Tony. Tony, his sweet, beloved child. Howard's efforts to ignore his problem were doomed from the start. After all, Tony was the birthday... child.

Howard resigned himself to tackling the issue head on and asked, “Is Tony ready?”

Maria had her head against his back, so even though he couldn't see her face, he felt her mouth become a sad smile. “Not really,” she said, echoing his own answer.

Unable to help himself, he snorted. “Dress? Make-up? Both?”

Maria's sad smile slowly outgrew its sadness, as she replied, voice full of mirth, “Some of my red pumps, actually. Really quite cute.”

“As strange as it sounds, I wish we were still in the '60s.” Howard twisted around in those slender arms to face their owner, giving her a lopsided grin. “At least I'd be able to think of _somewhere_ Tony would fit in.”

Maria's smile finally reached its true brilliance, making him want to sweep her off her feet just for the sake of doing it. “It sounds to me like your next project is a time machine.”

She'd meant it as a joke, but they both sobered up quickly as the sheer infeasibility brought reality crashing back down upon them, reminding them that they were failing Tony. They wanted to help their child, but they knew that the world wouldn't be very accepting. They did what they could, hoping every little bit helped — that trivial matters like a _perfect_ birthday would somehow solve the unsolvable.

Nothing had prepared them for their child. Sometimes, Howard would find himself pondering what-ifs. What if Tony was a normal boy? What if Tony had been born with a girl's body? What if they had never adopted Tony? It made him sick to his stomach. He hated that the world wasn't accepting of children like Tony, but even he struggled with the situation.

“Mom! Dad! I'm... I'm ready!”

Maria turned around to face the door, and Howard broke out of his reverie enough to glance up. Tony stood there wearing a red mini-skirt ( _He must've stolen it from Maria's closet_ , Howard thought to himself.) as a makeshift dress. A thin, sparkly gold belt secured the top of the skirt across Tony's chest, keeping the hem off the floor. His little feet were planted in the red pumps Maria mentioned earlier; they were naturally too big, leaving careful shuffling Tony's only option for movement. Bright red lipstick haphazardly adorned his mouth, which bore a small, hopeful smile.

Howard's heart broke at the sight. Maria's clearly had as well, since tears flowed freely from her eyes as she lowered herself to her knees to envelope Tony in a fierce hug. The sweet, hopeful smile upon Tony's face began to quiver, tears beginning to flow from his eyes as well. “I'll change.”

Howard surprised everyone, including himself, with a fervent, “No.”

Tony's eyes widened, even as tears still flowed from them. “But you said I can't when guests will be here?”

“You're right. You can't when guests are here.”

Tony murmured in wonder, “You'd send them away?”

 _Ever the smart kid_ , Howard thought to himself. “It's your birthday, Tony. Spend it...” Howard paused. The moment was only a hair's breadth long, but he needed it. _This isn't about what you need, Howard. It's about what_ Tony _needs._ “Spend it how you want to.”

As his child crashed into his legs, hugging him as tightly as those little arms could, he knew he was doing the right thing. Maria never used words to express her love for him. When her slender arms surrounded him, he could feel her love. As Tony stood there, crushing Howard's legs with _her_ arms, her love felt like the sun itself.


	2. Chapter One: A Forged Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

**Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Chapter One: A Forged Heart_

“Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.”

Oscar Wilde

* * *

**Friday, August 29th, 2003 @ 09:32a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

“Miss Stark, Miss Potts is here. She's heading towards the workshop.”

Megan paused her welding briefly, a look of consternation crossing her face. “Jarvis what day is today?”

The smooth, robotic voice of her AI quipped back with a definite lilt of amusement, “Why do you ask questions when you already know the answers?”

“Shit.” The workshop came alive as its owner flew into action. The metal Megan had been fusing together was left abandoned on a wheeled workstation, which had already begun steering itself out of sight. Megan had already taken a step aside where she met her metal wardrobe halfway and flung its chrome finish doors wide. She yanked her clothes off and threw them into a basket inside the wardrobe as metal arms snaked their way out of the packed contents, clothes fit for a press conference clutched in their three-fingered grasps.

“No shower, Miss Stark?” Jarvis asked, as Megan hastily donned her red undergarments.

“You said she's _here_ , didn't you?” Her red, sleeveless blouse went on next. “Besides, I'm going to Afghanistan. I'll be drowning in my own sweat soon enough.”

“And the flight over, Meg?” Pepper called out as she descended the stairs.

 _She sounds happy_ , Megan mentally noted. Charcoal, white-pinstripe pants in hand, she began to sit down onto nothing, a wheeled chair skidding to a halt under her just in time. She pulled the bottom to her pant-suit on and replied, “It's my plane. They can get over it.”

Pepper reached the door to the workshop and, after punching in the code, stepped through the unlocked door. “Your plane, which was scheduled to leave an hour and a half ago.”

Megan winced, remembering that Rhodey was flying over with her, and grabbed the proffered black boots another metal hand had procured from the depths of her closet. The boots would be warm — very warm — but it was the lesser evil compared to sand-induced chaffing; the tight fit, when worn under her pants, would stave off most, if not all, of the sand.

“I'll tell Rhodey I'm sorry when I get there. I'd forgotten, and... Well, it's my plane. It isn't leaving without me.” She slipped her arms into the matching suit jacket, ready to begin the corporate dance. Obie had asked her to handle the demonstration, and while she ordinarily hated being in the public eye, he had been rather insistent. Camera shy or not, she did have a certain flair, and the Jericho presentation they had prepared was _all about_ flair.

“You should apologize about the awards presentation while you're at it.” Another wince. “Megan, I have to run some things by you before you dash off into the desert.”

Megan had already begun making her way to the red Audi R8 parked nearby, a red purse hanging off her shoulder. She turned back to face Pepper, a glazed look briefly flickering across her eyes, then answered, “The art collection is all yours, Pep, so do whatever you want about the Jackson Pollock. Tell MIT that there's a reason I did all my coursework online. Do you really need me to sign off continued funding for my mom's charity?”

Pepper didn't miss a beat. “It's overpriced, I'll tell them you said no, and yes, that's the legal world. How did you know what I was going to ask?” She was familiar with Megan's occasional glassy-eyed stare. Whenever she had that look in her eyes, it meant she was having a “moment of genius,” as Megan liked to call them. Megan Stark was a special woman. Her genius allowed her to remember the forgotten, deduce the unknown, and fix the unfixable. Her secret kept her from being social, from being honest. Pepper could count on one hand the number of people Megan trusted with her secret and have one finger left.

Megan strode back over, graced the clipboard-bound contract with her signature, then began making her way to the Audi. “Jarvis has access to your docket. Ironically, I need you to do something for me too.”

Pepper quirked an eyebrow. _Of course — she's a quick reader._ “I've got plans.”

The sports car came to life as its owner pulled the suicide door shut. The wheels screamed as Megan hit the gas, rocketing the car forward. Before it got far, she twisted the wheel and sent the car power-sliding towards Pepper. Pepper panicked and moved to jump out of the way, but the car came to a screeching halt next to her before she had moved an inch.

The window slide down, and Megan stuck her arm out, a small box covered in white wrapping-paper and a gold bow in her hand. “I need you to have a good time on your birthday for me.”

A small smile graced Pepper's lips as she took the present and softly thanked her. She didn't appreciate Megan's antics, but she knew there was love in them. Ever since Megan's parents died in the car accident, Pepper, Obadiah, James, and Happy had been her only “family.” _Jarvis too_ , Pepper thought to herself. But Jarvis was an AI, so he could be programmed to keep her secret. People were different; trust was needed if secrets were to be kept. One hand — On one hand, Pepper could count the people Megan trusted, the people she called family.

Her eyes alight with mirth, Megan slipped her red Oakley Pulses on. With her laughing eyes blocked from view by black tinted lenses, she called out, “I'll see you tomorrow!” and the Audi took off once more. The roar of the engine echoed through the workshop as the car made its way up the ramp. Eventually, the last whispers of the vehicle's presence vanished.

Pepper turned in surprise as a second chrome wardrobe rolled over to her. “Your gift, Miss Potts,” Jarvis' smooth voice announced. She turned her eyes down to glance at the gift lying in her hands. Jarvis answered her unasked question, “Two parts.”

She deftly removed the wrapping around the box and found earrings — each with a navy blue, diamond shaped gem set on silver wire hook. She reached to open the metal doors, already knowing what she would find within. Hanging inside was a beautiful, navy-colored gala dress — one she had been eying for some time. She put her face in her palm and shook her head slightly. “She's either stalking me or 'deducing the unknown' again.” She smiled. “I'm not sure which I prefer.”

* * *

**Friday, August 29th, 2003 @ 10:20a, PST | Los Angeles International Airport, the Tarmac**

James Rhodes watched with a practiced scowl as the Audi R8 approached the plane and stopped near the stairs into the plane — where he was standing. Happy Hogan, who was waiting nearby in order to take the car back to Malibu, stepped forward and flipped the door up and open.

A sheepish grin plastered across her face, Megan stepped out of the car. “Sorry, you two. Got caught up in work.”

Rhodes smirked, shattering any pretense of anger gone. “You don't need to apologize, Meg. I'm your man.”

She placed her Oakleys in her purse and strode up the stairs. Her grin took on a more humorous look as she said, “My man, are you? I'm not sure you're my type.”

As she reached the step he was on, she leaned in to kiss his cheek. Rhodes accepted the gesture while rolling his eyes. “The last thing I want to discuss is your 'type.'” The two of them began to make their way up the rest of the stairs.

Rhodes entered the plane first, and before she crossed the threshold, Megan turned her head to glance back over her shoulder. “I'll see you tomorrow, Happy. Not a scratch!” Happy chuckled and gave her a mock salute as the door shut.

* * *

**Friday, August 29th, 2003 @ 11:05a | International Airspace, the Pacific Ocean**

“Megan — I need a word.”

Megan looked up from her laptop and was immediately swept up by the intense look in Rhodes' eyes. She briefly glanced around the cabin and saw that the two of them were alone, the flight staff apparently occupied with other matters. She closed her laptop with a brief snap and set aside all thought of work for the moment. “What's up, Rhodey?” She had a suspicion but held her tongue and waited for confirmation from her longtime friend.

Rhodes said nothing for a moment as he collected his thoughts. He didn't like the notion of having this conversation, but it felt oddly important, so he plowed ahead. “When I put on this uniform, do you know what I recognize?”

Megan quirked an eyebrow as she gave said uniform a once-over. She smiled and quipped, “That three buttons is seriously old fashioned?” Rhodes sighed in frustration. _No dice_ , Megan noted. “Sorry. Just... Trying to lighten the mood.”

Rhodes gave her a weak smile. “It might be old fashioned, but that's the point.” He briefly paused. “Megan... When I put this uniform on, I know that other people wear it too. They're my comrades — they've got my back.”

Her suspicion confirmed, Megan softly replied. “And you... You've got my back. You, Pepper, Happy, and Obie are _my_ comrades.”

Rhodes nodded, glad she was following him. “The world knows you, but they don't _know_ you, Meg. You're more than what they think you are.” Tears had begun to sparkle at the corners of her eyes, so he leaned forward and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I just wanted you to know that we're here for you — no matter what.” Megan smiled, unable to help it. It always made her happy to think of her extended family.

The cabin door slid open, interrupting the moment. One of the flight staff, a young, blonde lady stepped through the open door and froze when she saw the two of them: Megan, with tears shimmering in her eyes and a smile on her face, and Rhodes, with his hand resting on her shoulder. Of course, she jumped to the wrong conclusion. “Sorry! I'll leave you two lovebirds alone.” She swiftly fled back through the door, sliding it shut once more.

Megan laughingly quipped, “It seems _she_ thinks you're my type.”

Rhodes groaned.

* * *

**Saturday, August 30th, 2003 @ 04:42p, AFT | Somewhere in Afghanistan**

Megan awoke in a panic, her thoughts awhirl with the final moments before she fell unconscious. The last thing she remembered was looking at her chest, and...

_My chest!_

Her body ached all over, but she knew she had to tend to that wound — the gaping hole where some god awful weapon had carved its way into her flesh. It didn't matter where she was, at least for the moment. She had to tend to that wound, or she was going to _die_. Her will incensed by a burning desire to live, she commanded her arms to move. They burned with effort, but they eventually lifted up and moved to check her chest.

One did, anyway. Her left arm was stopped as it ran into a wire that her eyes, bleary from sleep and no energy, had not seen. The wire was only slightly jarred, but the movement was enough for to feel that it was connected to the area of her chest that had been injured. She tore her eyes from the ceiling of what appeared to be a natural cave formation and let her head flop to the left. The wire was connected to a car battery.

“Oh god,” she murmured, her voice hoarse.

“Miss Stark,” a voice from somewhere to her right said. “It's nice to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Her eyes glazed over as she scrounged through her memories to place the voice. “Ho Yinsen?” Had she said that aloud? Her body was beginning to go into autopilot. “New Year's Eve 1999, technical conference in Bern, Switzerland.”

Yinsen chuckled. “Your memory serves you well, Miss Stark. Your lecture on integrated circuits was inspiring, especially from someone so young.” Megan heard the scrape of a chair and footsteps approaching. “I'm sorry I couldn't do better with your wound. My tools are... limited here.” She twisted her head to face upwards again and found Yinsen above her, his finger and eyes directing her attention to the wound in her chest. She followed his gaze and took in the sight.

Her blouse was gone, replaced with a loose fitting tank top that was tattered and dirty. Given its worn appearance, she concluded that it had originally been owned by someone else — a man, if the size and cut were any indication. A circular hole had been cut over her sternum, just above her breasts, exposing a cylindrical mass of metal. The wire ( _Two wires_ , she mentally corrected.) from before were attached to the mass. _Red and black wires connected to a car battery? Is this thing..._

“An electromagnet?” she inquired aloud.

Yinsen nodded gravely. “I removed as much shrapnel as I could, but it wasn't nearly enough. The magnet is keeping them from entering your atrial septum. Without it, you would be dead within a week.”

“That's my heart, right?” Megan was a genius, but anatomy wasn't her forte.

“It is.”

“Wh–who attacked me? Why? Where are we?” She hadn't meant to yell at Yinsen, especially since he had apparently saved her life, but it was all so much. She needed to ground herself. She had been brought to death's door... _Oh god._ Tears broke free as she began to panic. “The attack — was I the only one who survived? Rhodey was in one of the other cars!” Had they only wanted her? Did that mean they had killed everyone else?

“Miss Stark!” Yinsen's voice pulled her back from the dark possibilities that had begun to race through her mind and coat it in fear. “Panicking is not a luxury you can afford, I am afraid. I will answer your questions as best as I can, but we have little time.”

She wanted to scream at the world, to grapple with the heavens and force everything to be all right again. But she couldn't. She didn't know if it was Yinsen's warning that stopped her, or if her body simply didn't have the strength to muster up a good scream. “Tell me.” She looked up and locked eyes with Yinsen. “ _Please_.”

For a moment, Yinsen said nothing, his eyes searching hers for something only he could see. He finally nodded, as if to himself, and spoke. “They call themselves the Ten Rings. I do not know why they attacked your... convoy?” He tilted his head slightly, the question lingering. When Megan affirmed his guess, he continued. “As for where we are, we are somewhere in Afghanistan. As your fellow prisoner, I'm afraid I don't have a more specific location than that.”

“You said we 'have little time.' Why?”

Yinsen grimaced. “I was given explicit orders: 'Do not let her die.' I can only presume that they want to use you, Miss Stark.” He pointed at her head. “They either want you for this.” He moved his to point below her waistline. “Or for this.”

Megan closed her eyes as the gravity of the situation became apparent. She remembered the chaos of the attack, the fierce, reckless disregard for the lives of her soldier escorts. They hadn't been cautious at all in their attack, nearly killing her in the process. While she couldn't rule out the possibility that they had intended to kidnap her, the odds heavily favored a more fortuitous scenario: a merciless attack and an unexpected discovery. The question was whether they wanted Megan Stark, the genius mechanic, or Megan Stark, a woman they could fuck. Yinsen was right — she didn't have time to panic over Rhodey and his comrades. Rhodey was a soldier, trained by the best and forged in the fires of war; he could have ( _Would have!_ she fiercely amended.) handled himself. She, however, was out of her league.

“Miss Stark... Regarding the second possi—”

Megan's eyes were open in an instant, locking onto Yinsen with a look of fear.

Yinsen hesitated under her scrutiny, but he pressed on. “Your clothes were haphazard when you were brought to me. I presumed the worst, but I have not checked. I wanted your permission first.”

“Ah.” Megan squirmed slightly but otherwise relaxed, her fear abated. “You don't need to worry. I'm infertile.”

“I know.”

The fear reared up in her again, stronger than before. It tore at her insides and compelled her to act. Her battered and weary body moved on its own, forcing her upright. Her hand wrapped tightly around Yinsen's dusty tie and pulled him down to eye level. “How?”

Yinsen, to his credit, was calm before Megan's fury. “How do I know? Or how do I want you to kill me?”

The second question broke her free from natural instinct, her hand limply falling to her side. Yinsen still stood at eye level, matching her gaze levelly. “The former. I am not a killer. But... if I don't like your answer.” The rest was left unsaid.

Yinsen calmly replied, “Miss Stark, unless you have surgery to remove it, there will always be a risk of someone seeing.”

“You said you didn't check.”

“I didn't. Your pants were pulled taut around... it when they placed you on this table.”

Megan's head snapped down and flushed a bright red at the sight. She immediately adjusted her pants to lay properly and muttered, “I should've worn a fucking skirt.”

A faintly humorous smile played across Yinsen's lips. “Quite.” He pulled himself upright once more. “I was referring to checking the... other option. Regardless, you are 'infertile,' as you so aptly put it, so the choice is entirely yours.”

For the moment, however, the choice was neither of theirs. The doors to their makeshift cell/workshop slammed open and a guard gestured for them to come out and spoke to Yinsen in a language Megan couldn't place.

Yinsen moved around to the other side of the table Megan was on, picked up the battery, and handed it to her. “They wish to speak with you.”

* * *

**Saturday, August 30th, 2003 @ 05:18p, AFT | Hideout of the Ten Rings, Somewhere in Afghanistan**

A Jericho — they wanted her to build them the most destructive weapon Stark Industries had ever designed. And that wasn't even the worst revelation: they were using her and Obie's weapons. She had seen her company's label plastered on several dozen containers as the guards forcibly led her out of the structure, which was indeed a cave. It was everywhere in the little makeshift town outside the cave as well. Bombs, missiles, guns, ammunition — all hers — was stacked next to hovels filled with her captors.

Everything, all that had happened, had incited a crisis of identity in her. She had just wanted to build like her father and honor his memory, to protect her home from the terrors of the world. In truth, she had been the unwitting terror all along, staining her father's legacy with the blood of Americans. And Yinsen, though he had not meant any harm, had inadvertently challenged her femininity. Seventeen years — she had been Megan Stark, a girl, for seventeen years. Yet in one moment, just one instant where she had not had control of how she was sitting, her female image had been tarnished.

The guards had brought Megan and Yinsen back to their makeshift cell some minutes ago. Overwhelmed by her experience, her identity crisis, and her uncertainty of how to proceed, Megan had sat down in a chair, her elbows planted squarely on the table with her head in her hands.

“Who am I, Yinsen?”

“An interesting question,” Yinsen replied as he dragged over a different chair and sat across from her. “I know you as Miss Megan Stark, a brilliant young woman with unparalleled inventive talent. These men know you as 'the most famous mass murderer in the history of America,' someone who can build them a weapon beyond their wildest dreams.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “These are the pieces of your legacy. Right now, your life's work is in the hands of murderers. Is that how you want your legacy to end? Or are you going to do something about it, Megan Stark?”

Her head still in her hands, Megan eyed the magnet that kept her alive — her metal heart. She drank in the sight and thought about her parents. It wasn't anything about the magnet in particular; their death was recent, just under two and a half years ago, and she still thought of them often. Her parents had always been protective of her, choosing to home-school her despite how busy work at Stark Industries was. Once, before she understood how unique she was, she had asked her father why they never let her leave their side.

* * *

_“Daddy, why are you and mommy always around?”_

_Howard looked up from his work and smiled at his daughter. “Do you know what the heart of our company is, sweetheart?”_

_Megan answered brightly, “The arc reactor, of course!”_

_“That's right, Megan. Do you know why?”_

_Megan was thoughtful for a minute, her young mind carefully considering the possible reasons. “It's a power source, so the company wouldn't work_  
_without it?_

_Howard chuckled. “It is a power source, but that's not why.”_

_Megan was nonplussed. “Then why?”_

_Howard scooped his young daughter up into a hug. “The reactor is a promise of a bright future. The company wouldn't die without power, but it would crumble without that promise — without its heart.”_

_He released Megan from his arms and kissed her gently on her forehead. “Your mother and I are always around you, Megan, because_ you _are_ our _heart.”_

* * *

“The arc reactor.”

“Arc reactor?” Yinsen asked in confusion.

Megan grabbed some nearby pencil and some paper and began to sketch him a rough diagram of the machine. “Obie and I have one back home powering one of our factories. My father built it back in 1971. It took him and his team 12 years to make.”

Yinsen glanced over the paper. “Ah, yes. I have seen this before. It's a very large machine.” He looked up at her. “May I ask how this will help?”

“My father once called this reactor the heart of Stark Industries; it's a part of its legacy.” She picked up the battery that powered her magnet-heart. She locked eyes with him, her fire rekindled. “They damaged my heart. I need to fix it.”

* * *

**Saturday, December 6th, 2003 @ 11:08a, AFT | Registan Desert, Southern Afghanistan**

Megan stumbled across the burning hot sands, lost in thought and desperate to find shelter. The desert temperature had begun to heat the metal rim of the hole in her sternum, burning the surrounding flesh. There was no longer a battery in the hole; instead, it had been replaced with a miniature arc reactor. She silently thanked Yinsen for his help. She never could have made the reactor in that god-forsaken cave without his steady hands. He deserved thanks for more than the reactor, though. He had put himself on the line to help her prepare her escape plan, and he later sacrificed his life to ensure it would succeed.

It had been a risky plan, and she normally would have abandoned it in favor of something more secure. Time however, had been short in supply; they two of them had had to make do. She had always intended for her arc reactor to be a heart for more than just her.

* * *

_With steady hands, Yinsen carefully placed the palladium core Megan had prepared into the arc reactor. He examined it with curiosity. “What can it generate?”_

_Megan held her new heart in her hand, it's bright, blue light the same as the heart of her company. “If my math is right...”_

_Yinsen chuckled, “It always is, isn't it?”_

_Megan smiled. “Three gigajoules per second.”_

_“That could run your heart for fifty lifetimes.”_

_Her smile twisted into a smirk. “Or something big for fifty minutes.”_

* * *

What they had built was, indeed, something big — a full-body, metal power suit. When Megan had finished the design and showed Yinsen what their freedom would look like, he jokingly commented, “So you're going to yourself into an iron woman.” She had promptly corrected him ( _It will_ not _be made of_ iron _!_ ) but the name had made her giggle; it was certainly fitting.

The suit had been the risky part, and compared to it, the escape itself should have been smooth sailing. If she were superstitious, she might have believed such thoughts jinxed it. The time to escape came when the Ten Rings had finally grown too impatient to let them live. She had donned the suit and prepared to clear a path for her friend, but Yinsen knew the power-up sequence would take too long and had rushed out of the cave to buy her time.

* * *

_“No, stop!” Megan screamed at Yinsen as he rushed towards the doors that lead out of the cave. “Stick to the plan!”_

_Yinsen paused at the doors and glanced over his shoulder at her. “This was always the plan, Miss Stark.”_

_“But... No! Don't you have a family to get back to?”_

_Yinsen gave her a rueful smile. “I'm from a small town called Gulmira. My family's graves are there — they are dead. I'm going to see them now. I want this.”_

_Megan stared at him and, in a broken voice, replied, “Thank you for saving me.”_

_Yinsen knew he needed to move now if he was going to hold the terrorists off long enough for the suit to be ready. “Don't waste it. Don't waste your life.”_

* * *

When the suit had finished powering on, Megan tore through her captors. And as she made her way out of the cave that had been her prison for over three months, she systematically destroyed all of their weapon stockpiles. She had refused to leave her company's weapons with those murderers. When the hideout finally laid in ruins, she fled into the skies. It had been one of the most liberating experiences in her life, second only to her sixth birthday, but it had also been brief. Her suit gave out on her, forcing her to crash-land somewhere in the desert. The suit, which had already been rather frail, understandably didn't survive the crash. Even if she had wanted to preserve the suit, she knew there was no way she could drag the pieces through the desert on her own.

So Megan abandoned the ruined suit, the precious freedom she and Yinsen had forged. And so she found herself stumbling across the burning hot sands, lost in thought and desperate to find shelter.

 _“Your mother and I are always around you, Megan, because_ you _are_ our _heart.”_

“Yinsen... Thank you for saving my heart.”

The sound of helicopters filled her ears; it was probably the most beautiful noise Megan had heard in her life. She yelled and screamed for help, waving her arms in a furious effort to be noticed. The crew did notice her, and they began to land. Somehow, she managed to wobbly cover the distance between her and the grounded helicopter, and as she reached the side door, it slid open to reveal Rhodes.

“Next time, you ride with me, okay?” Megan collapsed into his arms, tears streaming from her eyes.


	3. Chapter Two: Rising Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_The sound of helicopters filled her ears; it was probably the most beautiful noise Megan had heard in her life. She yelled and screamed for help, waving her arms in a furious effort to be noticed. The crew did notice her, and they began to land. Somehow, she managed to wobbly cover the distance between her and the grounded helicopter, and as she reached the side door, it slid open to reveal Rhodes._

_“Next time, you ride with me, okay?”_

_Megan collapsed into his arms, tears streaming from her eyes._

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
 _Chapter Two: Rising Up_

“Your success and happiness lies in you. Resolve to keep happy, and your joy and you shall form an invincible host against difficulties.”

Helen Keller

* * *

**Saturday, December 6th, 2003 @ 11:35a, AFT | Bost Airport, Lashkar Gah, Afghanistan**

Megan stirred from her sudden, unintended nap. She initially panicked, since she was surrounded by men with guns, but quickly identified them as U.S. Marines. She glanced upwards and found that her makeshift pillow had been Rhodes.

Rhodes, upon seeing Megan had awoken, smirked and inquired, “How was the nap, Sleeping Beauty?”

Megan blushed and pulled herself upright while she replied, “Sorry. Didn't mean to fall asleep on you.” She looked out the window and noticed that they were over civilization and rapidly approaching the ground. “Where are we?”

“Bost Airport. It was the closest we could get to from where we found you. We're shipping you back home where you belong.”

Rhodes had anticipated any of several responses. Megan being happy to go home, worried about work, falling asleep again... Hell, he wouldn't have been surprised if she had demanded to have an American cheeseburger. What he hadn't expected, however, was her reply, “Rhodey, I need to talk to you.” She glanced at the other men in the helicopter. “In private.”

Rhodes groaned and Megan blushed furiously as the rest of the craft's crew catcalled and wolf-whistled.

* * *

Megan studied the meeting room Rhodes had brought them to. If she was being honest with herself, she knew that true privacy was hard to come by after the P.A.T.R.I.O.T. Act passed two years ago. They were in a foreign country, but she suspected that national boundaries were of little consequence, especially Afghanistan, which had been a hotbed of activity since the Towers fell.

Regardless, the room would have to do. “I need two things. One, I need hormones — badly. I've been having serious withdrawal symptoms.”

Rhodes, to his credit, maintained perfect composure in spite of the sensitive subject matter. “Naturally. I'll see what I can scrounge up before we starting flying back.”

Megan chipped in, “Estradiol is used to treat women who are post-menopause or otherwise suffering from a lack of estrogen.”

He studied her, taking note of her condition. Megan had always been a bit petite, something he had chalked up to her reliance on hormone medication. Truth be told, however, he wasn't sure if he was right. She was his best friend, but he was definitely not an expert on trans matters. Her short, pixie cut black hair was dirty and matted from her unwanted stay in Afghanistan, but otherwise, she had made it out clean — of injuries, at least.

“Okay. What's the second thing you need?”

Megan locked eyes with Rhodes, “We need to talk the future of my company.”

Rhodes froze, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

Megan steeled herself for the difficult, but necessary, conversation, “I want to change how we do business. As the military liaison to Stark Industries, I know you'll be affected, so I wanted to make sure I wasn't springing my plans on you. Just... please hear me out.”

Rhodes grimaced. “Tell me what you had in mind.”

* * *

Rhodes didn't know what to think. Stop making weapons? Stark Industries was one of the most, if not the most, successful weapon-manufacturers ever. The idea of the company doing anything else was outrageous, at least from his perspective. _But her perspective matters too_ , Rhodes mentally chided himself. Megan was the CEO, after all; her word was law within Stark Industries.

His initial reaction had been to dismiss her plans as the product of PTSD, but he had to admit that her position was well thought out. He disagreed with it, but that was his own, personal view.

“I think you're gonna make a whole lotta people back home unhappy, Meg.”

Megan frowned. “It's inevitable, yeah. But...” She briefly debated whether to let him know her solution. It wasn't a tough decision. “Rhodey, there's something else. Something big.”

“I doubt you could hit me with anything bigger than your company's new, humanitarian outlook on life. Spill.”

Megan's frown slowly grew into a smile as she remembered the name Yinsen had branded her suit. “I don't want to say much, at least not here, but let's just say that I want to take a more personal role in world peace. I escaped from the Ten Rings because a friend and I built a suit.” She leaned in, driving her point home. “A power suit. Armor that made _me_ the weapon.”

Rhodey's eyes widened, both from the craziness of Megan's escape method and also the dawning realization of what she was really going to do. “You want to become a vigilante. A vigilante in a goddamn suit of armor.”

Megan flushed at Rhodey's incredulity. “Don't look at me like I'm crazy, Rhodey. Yinsen and I built a suit that I used to destroy a terrorist encampment. We built that suit while rotting in a god-forsaken hell hole, and we did it right under the terrorists' noses.” Her eyes lit up as the possibilities unfolded in her mind. “Just think what I can do back home.”

Rhodes _did_ know what she could do without such terrible conditions. He knew that fire in her eyes. It was the same fire he saw when she first took over Stark Industries as CEO. He had been the military liaison to her father's company for a long time and had always seen her by her parents' sides. She was a genius, helping her father with projects from day one. As incredible as her idea was, he knew that she could make it reality.

“You know this puts me in a difficult position. What you're talking about doing is illegal, and the government is going to try to stop you and take that tech for themselves. They'll probably use me to do it.”

Megan growled. “No. I can't trust them. Those terrorists had truckloads of my weapons. They didn't get that many in some accidental find; they were given them. It wasn't my company, and our biggest customer is the government.” She took a deep, calming breath then continued. “I want to trust them, Rhodey; I really do. But until I know its design won't be stolen, I have to keep the government out of this. I _have_ to build this suit. I'm not going to sell weapons anymore, but that doesn't mean I've given up on world peace.”

Rhodes was torn about what to say, so he settled for, “I need time to think about this. C'mon — let's get you home.”

Megan followed Rhodes out of the room, worrying her lip. _Well, at least I told him beforehand. Better than springing it on him._

* * *

**Sunday, December 7th, 2003 @ 12:33a, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

_P.A.T.R.I.O.T. Act, indeed_ , Director Fury thought to himself upon reading the transcription of what had transpired in a Bost Airport meeting room. It was only natural for them to have bugged meeting rooms in an Afghan airport.

He looked up from the paper file and fixed Agent Coulson, who had brought him the report, with a serious eye. “Get to LAX, and take Agent Romanoff with you. Give Miss Stark her father's strongbox. She's a strong candidate for the Avengers Initiative, Coulson. I want her on-board.”

“Are we to force the issue, sir?” Coulson inquired.

Fury glanced over the report again, piecing together the puzzle of Megan Stark.

 _Armor that made_ me _the weapon... Just think what I can do... I_ have _to build this suit. I'm not going to sell weapons anymore, but that doesn't mean I've given up on world peace._

“No. She just needs the right push.”

* * *

**Sunday, December 7th, 2003 @ 09:42a, PST | Los Angeles International Airport, the Tarmac**

As Megan exited the plane, she took a deep breath of American air, her eyes closed in pleasure. _I'm finally home!_ she thought to herself as she opened her eyes to descend the stairs to the ground. She could only groan when she saw the black government car waiting for her, Happy, Pepper, and Obie nowhere to be seen.

The car doors opened, revealing a man and a woman. The man was clearly the older of the two, his brown hair having begun to recede, yet Megan had the odd feeling that there was more to him than met the eye. He wore the quintessential “secret agent” attire: a black suit, relatively plain tie, and an earpiece. The woman had dark red, curly hair that fell below her shoulders; but for her attire, Megan would have written her off as an average, albeit beautiful, woman. She wore a black one piece, front-zip uniform that covered her arms, shoulders, torso, and legs completely. Strapped around her waist was a utility belt with numerous pouches and a gun holster on her left, which was further secure by a second belt strapped around her thigh. She wore black, fingerless gloves that reminded Megan of driving gloves, and secured to each of her wrists were straps bearing numerous black cylinders.

The man spoke. “Miss Stark, my name is Agent Phil Coulson, and this is Agent Natasha Romanoff. We need to debrief you regarding your escape using the power suit.”

Rhodes, who had begun to exit the plane behind Megan and carefully eyed the pair of agents. He wasn't terribly surprised to see them and suspected they had been sent by higher-ups in the federal government.

Megan ground out her response, “Five minutes. You people couldn't even leave me be for _five minutes_. Is Pepper here?” She had sent word ahead of her return and asked for both a ride home and for the driver to bring her meds. Rhodes had managed to locate some Estradiol for her, but as a transwoman, she needed more than just estrogen. She also needed Spironolactone, her anti-androgen. Together, the pills would suppress her naturally high testosterone levels and elevate her low estrogen levels. Without them, her hormonal balance wouldn't stay at those of a ciswoman, like Agent Romanoff.

Coulson answered, unrattled by the venom in Megan's words. “Miss Potts is with your bodyguard, Mr. Hogan. They've been temporarily detained by California highway patrolman until after we've debriefed you.”

Megan began descending the stairs, despite her dread of the two at the bottom. “Well _undetain_ them. She has my medication, which I've been missing for over three months now.” She reached the bottom of the stairs, her lips quirking into smile. It couldn't hurt to lay on some charm, right? “Please, Phil?”

Rhodes chuckled in spite of the seriousness of the situation, and Romanoff raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Coulson procured a bag containing two pill bottles from the black car and held them out to her. “We knew about your medical needs, so we brought some Estradiol and Spironolactone with us. The car, please, Miss Stark.”

Megan stared at the pills in the bag then up at Coulson, who easily had half a head's height on her. Her nostrils flared in anger at the injustice of it all. More people knew her secret — _agent_ people.

She surged forward, covering the short distance between herself and Coulson in a flash, and snatched the bag. She examined the bag, confirming that Coulson had been telling the truth. Her eyes returned to Coulson's. “Debrief my escape, right?” Coulson nodded. “Rhodey wasn't there, so he can leave.” It wasn't a question.

Coulson shrugged. “He will still be debriefed by the Marine Corps, but he doesn't need to be debriefed by us.”

With a huff, Megan viciously tore one of the black car's rear doors open. “Then let's get this over with.”

* * *

Coulson drove the car while Romanoff conducted the debrief. Megan told them the exactly what she had told Rhodes. It was obvious that they knew about the entirety of the conversation at the airport — they had made as much clear with their casual reference to her power suit and medication — so she saw no reason to lie. Coulson had taken the car onto the I405 and I10, and they were presently on state road 1; they were clearly taking her home. Megan hoped that Rhodes had had the foresight to call Pepper and Happy with an update.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Stark.”

There had been no humor in Romanoff's words, but Megan wasn't fooled. _They have a very loose definition of cooperation_ , she thought to herself. “Is that all then?”

Romanoff, who was sitting in the back with Megan, fixed her with a 'not even close' look. “Regarding your plans to build the 'Iron Woman' —”

“No, no,” Megan interrupted. “I'm going to build a power suit. It's... Without me...” She floundered for an explanation that didn't sound corny, but finding none, she met Romanoff's gaze and firmly explained, “ _I_ am 'Iron Woman.'”

Coulson glanced at her briefly in the rear-view mirror before watching the road once more. He hadn't been able to help it. Her statement, while simple, had had intense fire in it. Coulson's mind rang with Director Fury's words once more: _She just needs a push._

Romanoff gave nothing away. “Regarding your plans to build a 'power suit': Our boss asked us to deliver Howard Stark's strongbox into your possession. The contents should help in your endeavor.”

Megan blinked. “My dad's strongbox?” She had been under the impression that she'd received all of his possessions when he died. “And you're going to... just give it to me.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Romanoff's lips. “That is what I said, yes.”

“But,” Megan began, flustered. “I don't get it! What's the point of all this strong-arm nonsense? I thought you wanted to stop me, not help me!”

Agent Coulson smirked from up in the driver's seat and replied, “We wanted to let you know that we're serious, Miss Stark. You'll be monitored, of course, but you already knew that.”

Megan's conversation with Rhodes briefly crossed her mind. _I definitely know now._

In a flash, he pulled a business card from heaven knows where and contorted his arm to hold it out to her. “My card. We'd like to cooperate with you on this, Miss Stark. Please don't hesitate to call if you have questions.”

Megan numbly took the card from Coulson. _Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division? Somebody really wanted the acronym to be S.H.I.E.L.D..._ Having nowhere else at the moment to put the card, she tucked it into her bra. Romanoff raised an eyebrow but made no comment.

They reached Megan's home soon after. To Megan, it was a beautiful sight. _Home, at last!_ she thought fervently.

She opened the car door and moved to leave the car but stopped. After a moment's pause, she closed the door, settled back into her seat, and cast an inquiring eye on the agents.

“You said you wanted me to know you're serious. I know you are.” She let her words sink in for a moment, then continued. “So be serious with me. You know about my... meds. You want me to 'cooperate' with you. It all sounds an awful lot like blackmail to me, Phil, Natasha.”

Natasha said nothing, but Phil turned around in his seat to face her and responded, “I'm afraid there's nothing I can say or do that will reassure you. I'm sorry.”

The three of them sat there for some time: Natasha, quiet and unmoving; Phil, apologetic but unyielding; and Megan, intense and searching.

“There's something _I_ can do though.” And with that said, Megan opened her door and exited the car. The trunk popped open, revealing her father's container. She pulled it out and stepped back. She stood there, rooted to her driveway, and watched as the agents departed into the distance.

When the car had finally left her sight, she moved to go inside. Happy always parked his car in the driveway, since the garage was hers. The empty pavement meant that he and Pepper hadn't returned yet.

The front door opened itself for her, and as she entered, strong box in hand, Jarvis' smooth voice filled her ears. “Welcome home, Miss Stark.”

“Sorry, Jarvis. I'm just here to grab some things.”

* * *

**Sunday, December 7th, 2003 @ 11:22a, PST | Stark Industries, Press Conference Room**

Megan's heart was heavy. She had intended to have a press conference all along but only about the new direction she had planned for Stark Industries. In light of her contact with S.H.I.E.L.D., however, she had a second item on the agenda: revealing that she had been born male. This wasn't the first time she had entertained the idea of being more open about being transwoman, but she had always decided against it. This was the new millennium, a digital age, and she was, unfortunately, a celebrity. She had always came to the conclusion that if she opened up too much, that the flood gates would open wide and the waters of pop culture would swallow her whole.

But the dam had begun to crack on its own. Yinsen was one thing, but S.H.I.E.L.D.? She couldn't trust her secret to them. Worse yet was _how_ the agents had known. She needed to face facts and head things off before someone else overheard something they shouldn't. There wasn't a way to resolve the matter without her secret coming out, but she could at least do it on her terms.

“This isn't exactly going to be formal, as you can tell.” An understatement, since Megan had come directly to Stark Industries following her drive with Natasha and Phil. Her hair was still caked with grime, and she still wore the ripped and torn suit pants she had been wearing when the Ten Rings kidnapped her. She had exchanged the battered tank-top she had acquired in the cave with a solid red, button-up blouse, which was presently buttoned high enough to block her miniature arc reactor from sight. _Two reveals is more than enough, thank you!_

The crowd chuckled at her joke, but the moment was brief. All eyes were on her again.

 _God, I hate doing these things_ , Megan thought to herself. _Though it's nice to have my family here._ She had instructed Jarvis to make the calls for her: Pepper and Happy, Rhodes, Obadiah, and Phil. She had briefly debated the option of not calling Phil, but she knew S.H.I.E.L.D. would find about the conference anyway and had decided to extend them the small courtesy. _We'll be “cooperating,” so we might as well be on friendly terms._

“I have two announcements to make today. I'm positive that you'll be interested in both of them, so please listen closely. I don't have time to repeat myself — I've got a bath back home with my name on it.” Another wave of laughter came and went.

“I had many conversations with my dad, but there was one I never got around to: I wanted to ask him how he felt about what his company did... If he was ever conflicted — had doubts. On Friday, August 29th, I was in Afghanistan for a weapon demonstration. On our way back to base, my caravan was attacked by terrorists. I saw young Americans like me killed... killed by the very weapons I had created to defend and protect them. I realized that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero-accountability.”

One of the reporters spoke out, “What happened over there?”

“I had my eyes opened. I came to realize that I have more to offer this world than just making things that blow up. And that is why, effective immediately, I'm shutting down the weapons manufacturing division —”

The reporters began to excitedly murmur. Megan pressed on.

“— of Stark Enterprises until such time as I can decide what the future of this company will be. The direction it will take will be one I'm comfortable with and consistent with the highest good of this country and the world.”

The questions began to fly as the reporters, ravenous for a good story, could no longer contain themselves. Obadiah, who had been standing off stage, began making his way towards Megan to begin damage control. Rhodes and Phil, who were both backstage with Pepper, weren't caught off guard by the announcement, since they had prior knowledge. Pepper had not, however, and was gobsmacked.

“QUIET!” Megan loudly called out, impatience evident on her face. The frenzy of activity cooled down to a simmer at her reaction but refused to die out completely. With the volume low enough for her to be heard once more, she continued her statement.

“That is my _first_ announcement.” The reporters fell silent, not wanting to miss a single word.

“As I said before, I had many conversations with my dad. He, my mother, and I were close. We loved each other a lot.” Megan's eyes began to lightly shimmer, but she refused to let herself cry in front of these people. She was giving them enough ammunition already. “Life can be harsh — force you to compromise where you don't want to. The three of us made our own harsh compromise. It's why they sheltered me a lot when I was a kid, and it's why I'm making this second announcement.” She took a deep breath and made the plunge. “My name is Megan Stark, and I am a woman who was born male.”

Megan had already hinted to Phil about her intent, so he was unfazed by her announcement, but he was definitely the only one. Pepper dropped her clipboard, the attached paperwork scattering. Her hand had unconsciously risen up to cover her mouth, which still hung open from the shock of the first announcement. Rhodes and Obadiah were both rooted, unable to compel themselves to move from where they stood. The reporters practically exploded with shock and began to rush the stage while snapping pictures furiously and screaming out questions, many of which were incredibly inappropriate.

“Miss Stark, do you still have _it_?” “ Stark, what is your _real name_?” “Miss Stark, are your breasts _real_?” “ _Mister_ Stark, were your parents ashamed of your _condition_?” “Miss Stark, do you have sex _both ways_?”

Megan's face burned bright red with embarrassment at how awful the questions were, the indignation crushing down her heart. She wanted to leave, to just get out of there and go home, but her feet felt like they were made of lead — she was caught in the warpath of the frenzy she had incited.

Phil took stock of the situation and decided to act. He didn't like the way Megan was being treated, and nothing in his assignment precluded him from helping her end the conference. He bustled forward towards her side, mentally noting that the closest exit was in the backstage area where he had been watching. As Phil made his way to the podium, Rhodes finally managed to convince his legs to move again and swiftly followed Phil.

Megan was on the verge of losing the battle to stave off her tears when the two men reached her. They each placed a hand on her shoulder, one on each side, and Rhodes down to the mic to briefly say, “We're done here.”

Megan gladly followed her two saviors, vaguely aware that Obadiah had finally come forward and begun damage control. When they reached Pepper, Megan stopped them briefly and whispered with a dead voice, “I'm sorry, Pep. I have to be AWOL a bit longer.”

Pepper nodded unconsciously, still grappling with the gravity of what had just transpired, but the three of them had already started moving towards the exit — towards home.

* * *

**Sunday, December 7th, 2003 @ 11:43a, PST | Stark Industries, CA**

Obadiah had finally managed to disperse the conference reporters, giving them assurances ( _“Megan's back, and healthier than ever!”_ ) and the rest of the bullshit he usually used to handle such debacles. He began making his way to his office in order to work on a long-term solution. His cell rang shortly after he had closed his doors to shut out interruptions. He glanced at the number and his lips curled into a wicked smile.

He answered it. “Did you find all of the pieces?”

“Affirmative,” the voice on the other end replied.

“I want them here ASAP. Kill all of The Ten Rings.” He hung up.

Obadiah had been frustrated when the terrorist cell had contacted him about their capture of Megan. He had arranged for them to attack her convoy, but he hadn't informed them _who_ they would be killing. Needless to say, they had upped the stakes on him. A hit on an American soldier caravan was one matter — Megan Stark was quite another. Opportunity had come to his doorstep, however, when The Ten Rings contacted him again, seeking his assistance in reconstructing Megan's escape method. Now, his men had secured the pieces to the marvelous machine, and they would soon be his.

_So you don't to build weapons anymore, Megan? Ironic — you've just given the world its greatest weapon ever._

* * *

**Sunday, December 7th, 2003 @ 12:58p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

It had taken some effort, but Megan finally convinced Rhodes and Happy, who had been filled in on about what happened along the way, to let her be alone for the night. Phil had bowed out soon after they had gotten her home ( _I'm afraid I have another assignment that I need to handle, Miss Stark._ ), and she had thanked him as profusely as she good for his impromptu rescue of her from the press conference.

With the house finally empty, Megan suddenly realized that she had no idea what to do. She had wanted — _needed_ — time alone, but she needed something to do while she thought. There was a reason why she constantly played music in her workshop while she built. She wanted to start work on the suit but couldn't bring herself to. Her heart wasn't in it. How could she build a suit like the one she had made with Yinsen if her _heart_ wasn't in it?

Unable to think of anything else, she pulled out her parents' old scrapbooks and took them into the living room. Before her parents died, she had rarely pulled them out, but since then, she had come to count them among her most prized possessions. Her mother had pieced the books together, so her handwriting adorned the pages within. It wasn't that her father wasn't sentimental — he assuredly was. But he had also been very busy, especially with his time divided between her and his work.

She flipped through the pages casually, a weak smile on her face as the memories in the photos helped dispel the dead feeling that had taken roost in her during the cataclysmic press conference. She didn't know how long it took her to work her way through all of the books. And it hurt. It hurt _so much_. She wanted to be in her mother's comforting arms, to hear her father tell her he loved and supported her. But they were dead. Nothing but photos remained.

The tears that had threatened to come all day finally broke free, and she wept into the night. She wept until sleep finally overcame her.

* * *

Megan woke up later that night, the sun long since departed. The unease in her heart still felt like an open wound, and the restlessness of her sleep had not recharged her at all. Her weary, tear-stained eyes fell on the albums, causing her to let out a choked sob. She had thought she was over relatively over the loss of her parents, but she had clearly been wrong.

“Mommy, Daddy... I miss you so much...”

“Miss Stark, you have an urgent message.”

Megan blinked. She had forgotten Jarvis was even here, she was so lost in thought.

“I don't care — even if it's someone in the system. I am _not_ in the mood, Jarvis.”

“Ma'am, I'm sorry. My protocols are being overridden.”

 _Overridden?_ “What the hell are you talking about? Grow a spine, Jarvis! I am _so not_ in the fucking mood!”

“Miss Stark, I know this is a bad time; I'm sorry for interrupting.” It was Phil. She opened her mouth to demand that he stay the fuck out of Jarvis, but Phil continued. “I'm leaving this message to remind you about your father's box. I've been assured that you'll be very interested in its contents, even at a time like this. Best of luck.”

A recording then. _Right, that makes sense. Otherwise, Jarvis would've said “call” instead of message._ She played the message over again in her head when the exact words hit her. Her _father's_ box.

She bolted from the living room and found the box was still by the door where she had left it earlier. She stared at it for a moment, as if it were a priceless artifact in a museum — something that ought not be disturbed. This box was her father's, and she had never seen it before. Having it didn't make their deaths any easier, but this, unlike the scrapbooks, was a fresh memory of her father. For the moment, that box was worth more than gold to Megan Stark.

Eventually, she worked up the nerve to handle the box and took it back into the living room. She laid it on the couch, released the twist locks, and flipped the lid open. Inside, she found a small mountain of papers mostly comprised of newspaper clippings and academic papers. Laying on top of the mound, she found a movie reel. Her eyes opened wide at the sight of it. _Is that a film of him?_

“Jarvis, do we have a player this will work with?”

“Yes. It is in storage locker 3.”

“Unseal that locker. I'll be there shortly.”

* * *

_“My child, you're too young to understand now, so I decided to record it for you. I built this for you. Someday, you'll realize that they represent much more than inventions of people. It represents the work of my life. This is the key to the future. I'm limited by the technology of my time, but... One day, you'll figure it out, and you will change the world. You'll make it a better place, one where everyone is free to be themselves, like you are always trying to be. You are my greatest creation. Your mother and I will always be in your heart. Remember: We will always be proud of you. We will always love you.”_

* * *

As the film ended, Megan realized that her tears had returned, but that there was something different about them. Before, they had come as she mourned the loss of her parents, but now it was different. She could practically feel her mother's arms embracing her as her father's words comforted her.

The diorama of her father's “City of the Future” stood nearby. He had built it for the 1984 Stark Expo, back when she was just four and still “Tony.” Her father had been standing by it in the film; it was the key he had mentioned. Megan walked over to it and stood there — stood there in the same spot where he had proclaimed his pride and love for her.

_“This is the key... One day, you'll figure it out, and you will change the world. You'll make it a better place.”_

“The key...” Megan gently toyed with one of the diorama's small buildings, smiling softly as she remembered playing with the same building as her father filmed nearby. She cast her eyes over it, drinking in the image of the city he had wanted to build.

She froze. _This isn't a city._

Megan's eyes glazed over as she analyzed the buildings, roads, gardens, stands... Putting together the pieces of the puzzle her father had made for her. _Is this a blueprint for an element?_

_“I'm limited by the technology of my time.”_

Her hand grasped at the arc reactor in her chest. It had been her father's design; she just miniaturized it. Her model, like his, contained a palladium core. She hadn't thought about it until now, but using a palladium core was a seriously bad idea for her. Palladium poisoning would become a very real possibility over time and would ultimately kill her if she didn't find a substitute. She gazed over the diorama once more. Would her father's theoretical element work as a substitute for her?

_“Is that how you want your legacy to end? Or are you going to do something about it, Megan Stark?”_

“Mom, Dad, Yinsen — this is _not_ how it's going to end.”

* * *

**Monday, December 8th, 2003 @ 12:03p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

Rhodes pulled into Megan's driveway and sighed when he saw one of the agents from yesterday. He might have been okay with the guy who had helped Megan retreat from her press conference, Megan had apparently taken a liking to him, but instead, it was the red-headed who had been decked out in super spy attire. Thankfully, she was dressed in casual wear today: a yellow jacket over a red blouse with black pants and heels.

He parked the car and hopped out. _May as well try to be civil._ “May I ask what you're doing here, Agent... Romanoff?”

“I'm here on assignment, Lt. Colonel.”

“And how long have you been standing here waiting to get in?”

Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “To get in? No. On you.”

That caught his attention. These people had known exactly when and where Megan's plane would land and whose arrival they needed to delay. If they knew all of that, then they surely knew where he lived. Yet she had met him here, at Megan's, rather than his own home. That could mean a number of things, but the most likely was that she needed him to do something here — something that almost certainly involved Megan.

He needed more info to be sure, so he calmly asked, “And how is Megan?”

Natasha smirked. “Yes, I've been in to check on her, and yes, I need you to do something for me; more precisely, Megan does.”

Rhodey stiffened. Had he really been so obvious? Or was she just that good at reading people? _I guess the spy suit is for more than looking good._

Natasha continued, “Megan is fine; see for yourself.”

Rhodey's eyes narrowed. _Fine? After yesterday? No, she's playing me._ “Jarvis,” he called out. “Did Megan let Agent Romanoff into the house earlier?”

“Good day, Mister Rhodes. Miss Stark did not allow Agent Romanoff into the house earlier, but she did speak with her after Agent Romanoff bypassed my security protocols.”

Rhodey blinked, caught off guard. He had honestly thought she was trying to exploit him in order to access the house.

“Are we done playing games, Lt. Colonel?” Natasha quipped. “She wants you to install her new 'heart.'”

Clearly outclassed, Rhodes gave up and opened the door without a word.

* * *

The stairs descending into Megan's basement weren't lit when they reached them, so Rhodes asked Jarvis to turn on the lights. As they flickered on, illuminating the spiral stairway, he heard Megan loudly complain from downstairs, “Jarvis, what the hell! All night, remember? Nap time!”

“My apologies, Miss Stark, but Lt. Colonel Rhodes is here to see you regarding the installation of your new arc reactor.”

Rhodes reached the bottom of the stairs, punched in the door code, and entered the workshop. “Your arc reactor, huh? That makes a lot more sense. Agent Romanoff said you wanted me to install your new heart.”

He looked Megan over, and was pleased to see that while she was clearly drained, she nevertheless looked worlds better than yesterday. She was cleanly showered and had purged her hair of mats, but most importantly, her voice was free of the soul-crushing depression it had had yesterday. In fact, she looked more like herself than ever: she wore a pair of old, but well maintained dark red yoga pants; a short-sleeved, black zip-up hoodie, which was unzipped enough that her arc reactor was clearly visible; a pair of plain black sandals; and, last but not least, her faded gold work gloves and goggles. This was Megan Stark in her element: Queen of the Gear Monkeys.

Megan glared at Natasha as she pushed the goggles off her eyes and onto her forehead. “I swear to God, you S.H.I.E.L.D. people act like you own my fucking house.”

Natasha shrugged and leaned against the wall next to the door.

Megan turned her attention back to Rhodes. “It _is_ my heart. It keeps the shrapnel in my chest from entering my anatomical heart and killing me.”

Rhodes was shocked. He had seen the reactor when his team had found her in the desert, but this was the first time she had explained why it was there. “Right. That makes sense.” He glanced at the extra arc reactor that laid on the worktable Megan had working at. _Or had she been snoozing?_ “And that's the new one then?”

Megan nodded. “My old one is dying out. If it had just been powering me, then that it would still have been fine, but it was the power source for the suit in Afghanistan as well.” She picked up the new reactor, showing it off with pride evident in her eyes. “This bad boy was designed from the ground up with the intent to have an exchangeable core.”

“Is that why the core is triangular instead of circular?”

“Nope. It's actually a new type of core altogether.” She pointed at the reactor on her sternum. “Yinsen and I made this one a Palladium core, like the one my dad built at Stark Industries.” Her finger moved to indicate the reactor in the palm of her other hand. “I made this one with a new element. My dad...” She paused for a moment, her eyes shimmering. “My dad left me a hidden blueprint for how to make it.” Her lips quirked up into a real smile. “He's still taking me to school.”

Rhodes looked on in appreciation. Discovering a new element was seriously impressive, especially given how torn up she'd been when he left yesterday. _Is this why she's feeling better? Solving the puzzle her dad left for her?_ “What're you gonna call it?”

Megan blinked. “Err, to be honest, I hadn't thought about it. I was too busy constructing the array to build it and then the new reactor to house it.” She began tapping her index finger against her chin. “Starkanium?”

Rhodes chuckled, making Megan blush. “You can work on it later. How do I install this thing?”

As Megan explained the swapping process, Natasha made a mental note to report Megan's successful creation of the element. According to S.H.I.E.L.D. file, Howard Stark made the film in the strong box back in 1984, but even as technology moved forward, he'd still been unable to make it. His daughter made it in one night. Granted, her tech was two years farther along than her father's, but it really wasn't that big of a leap. The real reason for her success was clearly that her mind was simply better. Howard Stark was a genius. What did that make Megan? This had been Director Fury's test: could Megan make herself into something more? She clearly had.

* * *

“Did you really have to make that into something provocative?” Megan muttered, as Rhodes began inserting the new arc reactor.

“Meg, you were only wearing a bra under that hoodie! The cleavage was one thing, but that was ridiculous. You're lucky you're not my type.”

She grinned. _I know his type, all right. He only plays with his “team,” after all._

As soon as the reactor was set into her chest, she gasped. Rhodes took a step back in panic. “Are you okay? Did I put it in wrong?”

“No, no!” she moaned in ecstasy. “It's just so _good_! I feel like a million bucks!”

It was Rhodes' turn to grin. “You _are_ a billionaire.”

Megan laughed, “Oh, whatever!” She turned her attention to a nearby monitor and cracked her knuckles. “Jarvis! Let's build a suit!”

“I thought it was 'nap time'?” Natasha chipped in.

“Million buuucks, 'Tasha." She stuck her tongue out at the agent playfully.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at the moniker but said nothing. Her assignment had been to check on Megan's progress with the new core and, if she had successfully made the new element, help her with installing it. She'd found the gear monkey snoozing at a worktable when she broke in earlier. The new arc reactor was on the table next to her, so she woke Megan up to ask if she needed help getting it in.

_“Yes, but only people who know how to use a god-forsaken doorbell are qualified to handle my heart! Now let me sleep until Rhodey or Pepper gets here.”_

And so she had waited for either of Megan's friends to arrive and install the reactor. Her assignment was complete now, but it seemed her patience would be rewarded with a bonus. Natasha relished the prospect of surprising Fury with intel about Megan's suit, so she decided to stay. _I don't have to be anywhere else right now, anyway._

* * *

Megan intently studied the hologram of the original suit, examining the blueprint she had replicated from memory. Finally, she nodded to herself.

“Jarvis, label this as 'Mark I,' and save it. Copy to new project file, index as 'Mark II.'”

“Too lazy to move your fingers, ma'am?”

“Shush, you. I'm creating.”

Rhodes and Natasha watched with no small amount of humor as Megan began altering the hologram while engaged in banter with her AI. She flicked some parts away, stretched or moved the remaining ones, and added to the hologram display.

“Yes, that's it!”

The bystanders examined the completed hologram. The original armor had been bulky, simple, and boxy, but the new armor was sleek, intricate, and curvy. It had an air of feminine class that the other one had not, but would it function at least as well as the old suit? Could she even make this one? The idea seemed too fantastic, but this was Megan Stark's bailiwick — making the impossible possible. She had miniaturized an arc reactor and made a new element in a single night; her chest bore the proof.

At that moment, Megan's stomach rumbled as if to say, 'You can't start this on an empty stomach!'

Her cheeks tinged pink, she muttered to herself, “Right. Food. Still human.” She turned to head upstairs to the kitchen and froze at the sight of Rhodes and Natasha. She had clearly forgotten they were even there.

Natasha laughed, quite possibly the only time Rhodes and Megan had ever seen her summon up more than a smirk. “Yes, you're still human, Stark.” She picked herself up from where she had been leaning against the wall and exited the workshop, calling back over her shoulder, “You can work on becoming invincible later.”


	4. Chapter Three: Eyes of Iron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_At that moment, Megan's stomach rumbled as if to say, ‘You can't start this on an empty stomach!’_

_Her cheeks tinged pink, she muttered to herself, “Right. Food. Still human.” She turned to head upstairs to the kitchen and froze at the sight of Rhodes and Natasha. She had clearly forgotten they were even there._

_Natasha laughed, quite possibly the only time Rhodes and Megan had ever seen her summon up more than a smirk. “Yes, you're still human, Stark.” She picked herself up from where she had been leaning against the wall and exited the workshop, calling back over her shoulder, “You can work on becoming invincible later.”_

* * *

**Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
 _Chapter Three: Eyes of Iron_

“When you are old and gray and full of sleep,  
and nodding by the fire, take down this book,  
and slowly read, and dream of the soft look  
your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.”

William Butler Yeats

* * *

**Monday, December 8th, 2003 @ 11:03p, PST | Stark Industries, CA**

Obadiah barely restrained his glee as he surveyed the armor his men had recovered from The Ten Rings. The team he'd sent to Afghanistan had just returned from the airport and was unloading the precious cargo they had smuggled into the U.S.

The captain of the team noticed Obadiah and walked over to him. “This is all of the remnants, sir.”

“Take everything and set up in Sector 16 underneath the arc reactor. Analyze, recreate, and improve it. Recruit our top engineers. I want a prototype right away.”

* * *

**Friday, December 12th, 2003 @ 03:13p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

“Okay, Jarvis. Activate hand controls. We're gonna start up nice and easy: 10% thrust capacity to achieve lift.

After Natasha had left the day before, Megan had hurriedly gulped down some food ( _So much better than the shit the Ten Rings gave me..._ ) and gotten started on the Mark II. She hadn't gotten much done, however, before she finally collapsed into sleep. She had hardly slept the night before then, in light of her haste to synthesize the element her father had theorized about and her recent abduction. Her new heart had definitely left her with more energy, but her natural body had won out in the end. That morning, she had awoken in her bed rather than the workshop, where she had fainted while piecing together the repulsor tech she would use for the suit's flight and main weapons. She suspected Rhodes had carried her upstairs, but she couldn't honestly remember if he stayed after Natasha left. Megan hadn't meant for Natasha — or Rhodey, for that matter — to see the Mark II design. She didn't trust the spy, and while she trusted Rhodes, he had asked her to give him time before dragging him into her schemes. Still, Rhodes could have left if he wanted, so really, it was his decision.

_“You can work on becoming invincible later.”_

Okay, Natasha was good for motivation, at least.

“My first steps, figuratively speaking, towards invincibility, Jarvis. This is one for the scrapbook! Going in 3... 2... 1...”

The repulsor fiercely blasted her up and backwards into the ceiling above her nearby Audi R8 — which she promptly crashed into when gravity took over. “Ow.”

“I've saved the video file in your scrapbook for 2003, ma'am.”

“Fuck you, Jarvis.”

* * *

Monday, December 15th, 2003 @ 07:42p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265

“Megan, I've been buzzing you,” Pepper called out as she descended the stairs into the madness of Megan's workshop. “Didn't you hear the intercom?”

She answered her own question when she reached the bottom and saw that Megan had a wireless headset over her ears as she she worked on a circular device the size of her palm that Pepper couldn't identify. _You'd think she would program the intercom to override the music_ , Pepper thought to herself as she punched in the door code. _Then again, maybe the point is to_ not _hear the intercom._

Pepper resigned herself to physically getting the black-haired genius' attention, but as she approached, Megan finally finished whatever she'd been doing and stood up while attaching it and another like it to her wrists. As she turned to the side to give herself room to place two more on each of her feet, she saw Pepper.

“Oh hey, Pep. Everything's fine. Nothing amiss.” A brief pause. “I'm in trouble, aren't I?”

“Guilty conscious, Meg?”

“No, habit. I'm usually in trouble when you come down here.”

Pepper rolled her eyes then turned her focus to the devices on Megan's extremities. “I thought you said you were done making weapons.”

“Weapons? Nah. They're just flight stabilizers — completely harmless.” She took a step towards the area she'd set aside for flight testing and promptly flipped into the air, as the repulsors on her feet flared to life for a brief moment, and landed in a tangled heap on the floor.

“I didn't expect that.”

Pepper smothered a giggle with her hand. When she had herself contained, she mentioned, “Obadiah is upstairs waiting for you.”

Megan miraculously extracted herself from the floor and slid the repulsors off. “Let's head up then.”

* * *

The two of them made their way upstairs and found Obadiah playing music on her grand piano.

Megan's eyes became glassy as her ears put a name to it. “Antonio Salieri's _Piano Concerto in C: Larghetto._ ”

Obadiah ceased playing as he observed, “Sharp ears, Megan. It's too bad you didn't put some of your sharpness to use before you made your big speech.”

Megan frowned. “Obie? I know I sprang all of that on you, and I'm sorry for that. We were supposed to be defending our country, not killing it. We have to stop blindly making weapons when they're ending up in the bad guys' hands.”

“Stop making weapons?” Obadiah laughed darkly. “Megan, we are _iron mongers_. Making weapons is what we do.”

He stood up from the piano bench and began to stride towards the women. “I knew that leaving you as CEO position was the wrong decision, but Howard would hear nothing of it. I had to settle for harvesting your golden eggs while I bided my time. And now, I don't have to pretend anymore.”

As he reached Megan, he held out some paperwork. Megan snatched it from his grasp, and her eyes hastily analyzed it. The board of directors for Stark Industries had elected for him to depose her as head of the company. Megan growled in anger and Pepper could only watch in shock.

Megan brandished the papers at him like a sword, waving them threateningly. “What the fuck, Obie! I trusted you!”

“How? Why?” Pepper stuttered out.

Obadiah's directed a savage smile at Megan. “Even if you hadn't given up on making weapons, you were out. The board wasn't about to let our company's good name be tarnished by a _shemale_.”

Slap!

Obadiah stumbled backwards under the force of Megan's livid backhand. A red, hand-shaped mark covered the left side of his face.

“Get the fuck out of my house before I _make_ you leave.”

Obadiah briefly contemplated retaliating but ultimately decided that his seizure of the company was sufficient revenge. He left without a word, a dark smirk upon his face, leaving the two women.

They stood there for a time, both frozen in place and unsure of what to do.

_“I had to settle for harvesting your golden eggs while I bided my time.”_

Megan's dropped the paper file, her hand suddenly weak. _Did he try to have me killed in Afghanistan?_ she wondered. It was just speculation, certain facts lining up, but it was too coincidental for comfort. _He argued with Dad about making me CEO, 'bided his time,' insisted that I do the Jericho demonstration..._ She needed to know. She had to get proof. The source that most likely had it would be difficult to reach — his laptop. Other possibilities existed, but none were as likely, and she seriously doubted that he would have multiple copies of any proof of wrongdoing.

 _But how to get it_ , she pondered. _Rhodey would be out of place, and if Pepper or I go, then he'll know something is up._

Her eyes widened. She knew some people who were _very_ good at getting information they shouldn't.

“Pepper.” Megan hadn't spoken loudly, but in the silence following Obadiah's departure, her voice sounded deafening. “I have work to do. Please go home.”

* * *

**Monday, December 15th, 2003 @ 10:44p, PST | Stark Industries, CA**

Obadiah gazed over the metal monstrosity before him, savoring the view. He had just returned from Stark's house and was feeling victorious. His team of engineers had nearly completed the task he had set them to a week ago: a prototype power suit of his own. It was tremendous, towering over the reassembled pieces his men had recovered from the Afghan desert.

 _With this, I will revolutionize the arms market!_ He chuckled darkly to himself as he envisioned the look on Stark's face when _he_ saw. _That freak of nature could never appreciate this marvel._

“Mr. Stane?” One of the engineers from the project approached him cautiously. “Sir, we've explored what you've asked us, and it seems that there's a little... hiccup.”

Obadiah fixed the engineer with a smoldering stare. “A hiccup?”

The engineer cringed but continued. “Yes, to power the suit... Sir, the technology actually doesn't exist. So it's —”

Obadiah's eyes took on a maniacal gleam. “Wait, wait — the technology?” He gestured wildly at the arc reactor above them. “Here's the technology. I've asked you to simply make it smaller.”

Sweat began to accumulate on the engineer's forehead. He nervously swallowed and responded, “Yes, sir, that's what we're trying to do, but honestly, it's impossible.”

Obadiah erupted, losing all sense of control. “That _shemale_ was able to build this in a cave! With a box of scraps!” He'd seen it in Stark's chest with his own eyes, and The Ten Rings' description of Stark's escape had made it clear the suit was powered by it.

The entire team stopped what they were doing and stared at their boss, caught off guard by his anger and crudeness. Even those among them who didn't like Stark were astounded at the obvious pettiness.

The engineer who had been the target of Obadiah's ire didn't know what else to say than, “Well, I'm sorry. I'm not Megan Stark.”

* * *

**Monday, December 15th, 2003 @ 08:21p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

Pepper had been reluctant to leave, but Megan eventually shuffled her out and called Phil, her only direct contact in S.H.I.E.L.D.

He answered nearly instantaneously. “This is Coulson.”

“Phil, it's Megan. I need to ask you for a favor.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I need to... access sensitive information on a private PC. Sound fun?”

Phil didn't miss a beat. “Fun is my middle name.”

In spite of her anger over Obadiah's treachery, Megan giggled at his joke. She wished she had been there to see him say it. “Just like that? You're too sweet, Phil honey.” _Now_  this _game I like._ _Phil's a lot more fun than Natasha._

“Well, I'd hate to disappoint. Obadiah, right?”

 _How the fuck?_ “I love it when you're being mysterious.”

“I'm glad to hear he loves his new watch. I was relieved I could find one that looked just like the old one.”

 _Right, begin surreptitiously checking everything for bugs ASAP._ “You're the best, Philly. Toodles.”

“Have fun tailoring your suit.”

_She hung up. Tailoring? Really? Maybe he should say his middle name is 'pun.'_

She began the descent into her basement. _I'm finishing the suit tonight._

* * *

Megan hovered wobbly through the air of her workshop, suspended by her repulsors. It turned out that her repulsors had been perfectly designed from the start; the trick had all been in not overdoing the thrust.

 _Hell yeah. I can fly!_ she thought to herself, as she steered away from her antique cars, not wanting to damage them like her Audi.

“Jarvis, what's the status on the automated assembly line? Is the rest of the suit ready?” The repulsors had been the part of the suit that she had needed to attend to personally. The Mark I had worked well enough in Afghanistan for her to get a proper idea of what needed to be tweaked. Her time flying, however, had been too short to get enough data about functionality.

“It is. At the risk of being ignored, may I suggest that you perform more tests before test driving the completed Mark II?”

“Consider yourself ignored. Let's suit up.”

The door to a room adjacent to the workshop opened up, revealing the newly constructed, silver-plated Mark II secured to a portable dock that made its way into the main workshop. Megan removed the repulsors strapped to her extremities and secured them into the silver machine. Without further ado, she stepped into it.

“Engage heads up display and import all preferences from home interface.”

“Will do, ma'am.”

The inside of her faceplate burst into life, indicating the suit's status, her life support levels, Jarvis' upload into the suit, and so on.

Once the screen indicated the transfer was complete, she asked, “Are you in here, buddy?”

“I have indeed been uploaded, ma'am. We're online and ready.”

“Then let's fly.”

“Ma'am, regarding your insistence on skipping the diagnostics and data calculations...”

“Jarvis — sometimes you gotta run before you can walk. Ready? In 3... 2... 1...”

She burst into movement, flying out of the basement workshop through the spiral entrance she used for her cars. Once she reached the world outside, she increased velocity and burned through the skies like a man-made meteorite.

“It feels like a dream...”

It was liberating. It was empowering. It was everything she'd dreamed of. As she cruised through the skies, testing the suit's handling, the people who had helped her reach where she was brushed through her thoughts. She thought of the good she could do, and the people she needed to protect.

_“One day, you'll figure it out, and you will change the world. You'll make it a better place.”_

This was the first step. With the suit, she could defend her nation and the people she cared about in it. And eventually, she would change people's perception of trans people like her. She would show the world that the only person they had to be was themselves. No compromises and no exceptions.

She twisted in the air, steering the suit up into the atmosphere. Tonight, she was invincible.

“Ma'am, there is a potentially fatal build-up of ice occurring.”

Well, maybe not tonight.

 _I might not be able to account for every weakness, but I'll be damned if I can't fix them. I can_ make _myself invincible._

* * *

**Tuesday, December 16th, 2003 @ 12:08p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

“This is Coulson.”

“Phil, honey, how goes the hunt?”

“It's awfully loud over there. What's all of that noise?”

“Don't change the subject on little ol' me now.”

“Your timing is good. I just made it to your house to review what I found.”

“It's a date. Ciao, darling.”

Phil hung up his phone, wondering why Megan had sounded like she was going through a wind tunnel. He strode up to her door and considered overriding her security but decided against it. She hadn't given the impression that she'd be long, so civility won out.

As he turned around to lean against the door, a blur slammed into the ground before him. In a flash, his training took over, and he whipped his gun out before him.

The blur had been Megan, encased in a red and gold variation on the Mark II. Her faceplate flipped up and back, revealing her face and the lopsided grin that graced it. “It's rude to point guns at people, Philly.”

Phil had to admit, he was impressed. He had known she had it in her to build a new power suit like the one she used to escape her captors, but he hadn't expected her to complete it in so little time. She had only been home for a little over a week, yet she had already made good on her threat. He would be seriously surprised if Director Fury didn't bring her in as a part of the Avenger initiative; at the very least, he would want access to her brilliant mind in some way.

He holstered his gun and gave her a dry smile. “I'd ask you to exchange notes with me, but it's pretty clear what you've been up to. Let's head inside — living room?”

“It's a date.” She winked. “Jarvis, we've got a guest who didn't break in. Show him some hospitality while I store the suit?”

“Of course, ma'am.”

Megan gave Phil a mock salute, and pushed off into a hovering position as her faceplate snapped into position, its blue eye slits alight. She blasted up into the sky where she twisted backwards in a loop, eventually swooping down to a position level with the ground and propelling forward into the helix entrance down into her workshop.

The corner of Phil's mouth twitched slightly upward. “Show off.”

He turned on his heel and strode towards the front door, which opened itself for him.

“Good afternoon, Philly,” Jarvis' cool voice intoned as Phil stepped into the residence.

Phil groaned. _Of_ course _, she programmed her AI to do it too._

* * *

Megan came up shortly after, clad in the same gear monkey attire she'd worn when she created the design for the Mark II, though she'd left her goggles in the workshop. She had thoroughly enjoyed testing her new Mark III armor, which had been made using a gold-titanium alloy as the base metal in order to avoid another ice debacle but still maintain the appropriate power-to-weight ratio. Phil was seated in the living room in one of her white arm chairs, reading over something on a tablet computer in his hands. Megan briefly wondered whether it was one of the crummy models that populated the small market for them, but she figured that S.H.I.E.L.D., being some sort of spy agency, would only use tech that was legitimately good.

_Only the best for the Strategic Home— God, they really need a better name._

She turned her attention back to Phil. _The game is afoot._ “Aw, Philly, an arm chair? It's so much easier to tease you on a couch.”

Phil deadpanned. “I know, Miss Stark.”

She gave a mock pout as she plopped into the recliner next to him, crossing her legs so her top leg brushed up against his left leg. “Dazzle me, honey.”

Phil procured photos from inside his suit jacket and passed them to her. Megan glanced over them: They were pictures of a desert town and featured distraught women, men, and children held captive by men with Stark Industries weapons.

“We successfully extracted the data stored on Obadiah Stane's PC. We found shipping manifests that indicate Stark Industries has been selling to the U.S. and terrorists alike.”

Megan was seething. It was one thing to suspect Obadiah of backdoor dealing with the enemy and another matter to have proof of it. “Where is this? Who are the armed men?”

“Gulmira, Afghanistan and The Ten Rings. The last remaining members of them, it appears; an entire base near where you were held captive was filled with corpses. Director Fury has already given you the go-ahead for a rescue mission and for you to take part, provided the suit was ready.”

_“I'm from a small town called Gulmira.”_

Megan locked eyes with Phil, Yinsen's sacrifice forefront in her mind. “'The go-ahead'? I'm going there to stop this madness, regardless of what your boss thinks.”

“Of course,” Phil coolly retorted.

Megan made to get up, but Phil cut her off, saying, “Before you go, there's more intel. We found a video from The Ten Rings to Stane on his computer. It clearly indicates that Stane paid them to assault your caravan in Afghanistan.”

Megan searched his eyes for a moment and, seeing no sign of deception, replied, “Your secret club can help with Gulmira, but that prick is _mine_.”

“I'm sure we can sort out the details.”

Megan stood, her eyes still on Phil. “Thank you for your help, Phil.”

“My pleasure, Megan.”

Megan smiled at his use of her given name. It was the first time he'd done so, and she knew that meant something. For him, this was business, but it was also _personal_.

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 @ 09:02a, AFT | The skies over Gulmira, Afghanistan**

The gray VTOL swiftly blazed through the skies of Afghanistan as Phil stood in the short passage between the pilots' seats and the rear of the vehicle, briefing their team of four operatives prepared for insertion into Gulmira.

“This is a straightforward hostage rescue. The area is too open for parachute-entry, so we'll go in low. We'll be grounded for three seconds, more than enough for you to get out. The drop zone will be kept clear with cover fire both while grounded and once airborne. You will be supported by an armored unit, codename Iron, on the ground. There will be crates of Stark Industries weapons stashed intermittently throughout the village; Iron will be evaporating them, so stay clear of them.”

He raised his finger to his earpiece. “Did you get all of that, Iron?”

The team's earpieces came alive with Megan's indignant voice, “You're ridiculous. Can you really not make it all the way through the moniker 'Iron Woman,' Philly?”

The operatives choked back their laughter at the 'Philly' remark. _Who_ is _that?_ they all wondered to themselves.

Phil's lips merely twitched into a ghost of a smile, as he simply replied, “Iron is shorter.” He turned around to glance at the control panel. “We're a minute out. Deliver the party invitation, Iron.”

“Oh, Phil, darling — I thought you'd never ask.”

* * *

Megan slammed to the ground in Gulmira, sending dust flying. Her HUD pinpointed the men with weapons, and she assessed the situation. Several armed men stood nearby in a half circle around what could only be described as an execution: a trembling man on his knees, a rifle barrel held to his head.

Megan wasted no time and sent the would-be executioner flying with a well-aimed repulsor blast. In a flash, she was over their victim, shielding him as she blew back the remaining armed men. She went to work destroying the guns her targets had been wielding then moved on to the stockpiles of Stark weapons her HUD located for her. As she finished disarming the handful of Jericho missiles the terrorists had secured, she glanced at the sky and saw the S.H.I.E.L.D. VTOL swiftly approaching.

“I think you're going to miss out on all the fun, Philly,” she announced through the team's voice link.

A mere moment later, her feet left the ground as a tank shell connected with her armor, flinging her backwards along the ground. Her armor was for more than offensive, however, and she quickly pulled herself to her feet, uninjured by the shot. The tank fired another shell, but she twisted sideways out of harm's way. She heard people running her direction, but her HUD identified them as Phil's operatives. Before the tank could send another shot, her right arm unveiled a small, mounted missile, which she promptly aimed and fired at the vehicle. The operatives arrived at her position in time to see her turn and walk away from the tank, which exploded into a fireball a second later.

“Yup. Totally missed the party. Too bad! I was hoping I’d get to play _rough_ with you.”

“Sorry to disappoint. I hope you had fun without me.”

“Oodles.” Her voice took on a more serious tone, as she continued, “I trust you’ll make sure these people are all right.”

“Of course. We'll take it from here. CENTCOM has been notified that you're with us.”

Megan took off into the sky and began the flight back to the U.S.

_'With you...'_

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 @ 09:40p, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

As Megan departed from Gulmira, Director Nick Fury closed his administrative link to the visual and audio feed of the S.H.I.E.L.D. VTOL and operatives. He leaned back in his desk chair, steepled his fingers under his chin, and weighed his options regarding Megan Stark. Her ingenuity and resourcefulness were phenomenal — case in point, her escape from The Ten Rings — but she was hotheaded and easily suspicious. He had expected she wouldn't work well with others, especially anyone she didn't fully trust, but her actions had begun to change that presumption. Her invitation to Lt. Colonel Rhodes had been understandable given their relationship, but she had also turned to his operatives for assistance regarding evidence against Obadiah Stane — a clearly personal vendetta — and had actually cooperated with the Gulmira matter. It could be that her “doesn't play well with others” attitude was a farce, her opinions on the matter were changing, or her narrow focus on doling out justice saw the benefits of working with a team in some situations. He suspected the latter, in light of her insistence she alone deal with Stane.

Fury stood from his chair, reaching a decision. Accepting Megan into S.H.I.E.L.D. in any capacity was playing with fire, but the Avengers initiative had always been a risky endeavor. He would administer one last test: Obadiah Stane had been on their radar for some time as a potential security threat, and the risk of leaving him unchecked had finally become too high. When Megan confronted him, Fury would send her assistance. If she accepted the help, in spite of her earlier refusal of it, then he would extend her an offer to join S.H.I.E.L.D.

_How will you choose, Stark?_

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 @ 09:09p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

Obadiah's team of soldiers cautiously approached Stark's home, covered by the night. Obadiah's engineers had failed in all of their attempts to make a miniaturized arc reactor, so Obadiah had resolved to take Stark's. Unfortunately, no one had been able to locate the ex-CEO. Out of options and unwilling to wait any longer, Obadiah had ordered a raid on the Stark residence, hoping to find either blueprints the engineers could use to recreate the miniature arc reactor or, if luck was on his side, an already constructed backup.

The team descended the helix entrance into the basement workshop, per Obadiah's instructions. They would need to use charges to break through, but they would have immediate access to location most likely to contain their target.

They had just reached the sealed door to the basement when Jarvis chimed in, “Good evening, gentlemen.”

The team had known about the AI but were caught off guard by the abruptly shattered silence. They quickly recovered, however, knowing that the clock had just begun ticking; the AI would doubtlessly notify the authorities.

“I’m afraid that you don’t have permission to be here, so I must ask you to leave. The authorities have been notified of your presence.”

The charges placed, the men rushed away from the metal door. There was nowhere to take cover, so distance was the only safeguard against injury. The charges exploded violently, tearing a human-sized hole in the door. A back-up security door immediately began to slam shut, but it was too late: one of the men had seized the brief window of opportunity and flung a super-charged EMP grenade through the gap. Jarvis' attempts to block the artificial entrance were cut short as the grenade detonated, bathing the workshop in an electromagnetic pulse that killed all electronic devices in its wake. With Jarvis' resistance ground to a halt, the men immediately charged into the lab one by one through the hole they had created.

The team's plan of attack had depended entirely on the EMP grenade, which had been a necessary risk. Using it made the retrieval of any electronically stored designs impossible and chanced damage to any backup miniature arc reactors Stark had in the lab; without it, however, Jarvis would have assuredly delayed them long enough for the authorities to arrive. On their own, the men couldn't possibly have anticipated the sophistication of Jarvis or the most likely location their target would be stored, but Obadiah had intimate knowledge of the Stark home.

“I've got something here!” The speaker held up the device in question — the arc reactor Megan and Yinsen had built in Afghanistan.

“We're done here. Move out and prepare for evac.”

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 @ 01:10p, CST | The skies over Shanghai, China; En route to the United States**

“Miss Stark, there's been a security breach at the house,” Jarvis announced to Megan as she cruised through the clouds at maximum speed.

“What? Who?”

“Men have... Well, that's odd.”

“Odd? What the hell's going on?”

“I'm... not sure. I've lost all connection to the basement workshop, ma'am.”

Megan grit her teeth in frustration. “What about the rest of the house?”

“Some of the cameras near the stairwell have died as well. I've checked the functioning units nearby; all electronic devices in the dark zone appear to have died. My preliminary assessment is that an EMP has been detonated. The radius suggests a point of origin in the workshop — specifically the exterior entrance.”

“Have you called the cops?”

“I'm on the line with them now. It seems my security duplicate was able to put out a general distress call before the EMP hit him.”

The land below Megan suddenly gave way to the ocean as she exited China.

“Ping Rhodey's phone. Where is he?”

“Location found. Lt. Colonel Rhodes is presently in Washington, D.C.”

 _Well, shit,_ Megan thought to herself. _It was worth a shot._

“Get Pepper on the line.”

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 @ 09:13p, PST | Pepper Pott's Apartmen**

Pepper gave a frustrated sigh as she clicked her computer's mouse, opening another window on the PC's screen. It was littered with dozens of programs — the fruits of her efforts to keep herself engaged in _something_. Obadiah had fired her after she witnessed the confrontation between him and Megan, so she had no job. It was odd, she decided, to be unemployed. She had been Megan's personal aide since the black-haired genius had taken over Stark Industries as CEO, and during that time, she had always been busy — always another task to finish. It had only been a little over a year and a half, but the rigorous work schedule had become some commonplace that she simply had no idea what to do with her sudden overabundance of free time. She wasn't sure whether Megan would be able to reclaim her company or not, but nevertheless, she had decided to hold off on job hunting for a time. Even if Megan didn't succeed in the end, Pepper figured that her friend would appreciate the silent show of support.

Pepper clicked another hyperlink, despite knowing her efforts were in vain. For now, all she could do was wait.

As she blearily glanced over the web article, her cell began to ring. “Shoot to thrill! Play to kill!”

She groaned. _Of_ course _Megan changed my ringtone again..._

She reached out towards the phone but fell away from it, startled, when the door to the room broke inwards in a flurry of wooden shards. Several armed men stood on the other side of the now displaced remnants of her door, and before she could move, two grenades were tossed into the room. Her world exploded in white light, leaving her effectively blind. Impulse compelled her to flee, even though her rational brain knew the only exit was through her assailants, but she found that her limbs were unwilling to cooperate. The sensation was over soon, as everything faded to black.

The attacker who had knocked Pepper unconscious grabbed her limp body and heaved her roughly over his shoulder.

One of his counterparts reached up to his earpiece. “Inform Mr. Stane that we have Potts.”

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 @ 01:15p, CST | The skies over the Pacific Ocean; En route to the United States**

“The call's been disconnected.”

Megan's growled. While it was perfectly plausible, indeed even likely, that nothing was wrong, she couldn't escape the nagging feeling that Pepper had been forced to leave her phone unanswered.

“Jarvis, I need eyes on Pepper's apartment _now_. Get me satellite imaging, local security cameras — _anything_! Hack everything that isn't ours.”

Jarvis was silent for a moment before responding, “The live feed for all security cameras in her complex is dead, but I have the earlier feed.”

“Engage auto-pilot and pull up the footage.”

Initially, nothing appeared amiss in the complex, but Megan's eyes widened in horror as she watched the various feeds systematically die, each time moments after small objects had been flung at them from a nearby corner.

Jarvis' voice interrupted the footage, announcing, “I've compared the uniforms of the men at Miss Pott's complex with external security footage at the house of the men who breached the workshop; they are identical, ma'am.”

 _Coincidental? Unlikely_ , she thought to herself. “Do whatever is necessary to keep eyes on the men who kidnapped Pepper. Hijack every fucking camera in town, if you have to. I'm not going to let this stand!”

Her thoughts turned to Phil, knowing he likely had S.H.I.E.L.D. contacts near Pepper's apartment, but she hesitated. Before her stint in an Afghan cave, she never would have accepted help from such an outside party, much less actively sought it out. What had changed? Rhodes had suggested PTSD to her at one point, but she knew that wasn't the case. She had researched the matter, despite her insistence that she was fine, and had confirmed that she didn't meet any of the diagnostic markers. Furthermore, her change didn't line up with the symptoms of PTSD.

As much as she hated to admit it, the most likely culprit was that she had simply begun to see the appeal of working with others. She had always been a lone-gunner as a child, and the more she reviewed her earlier years, the more she became convinced the cause was how different she had felt from everyone. But that had begun to change. Her collaboration with Yinsen had been admittedly forced by the circumstances, but in hindsight, she could clearly see that she had bonded with him because of his intelligence. With Phil, she had begun to see the side of him that was willing to use whatever means were necessary to ensure justice was served. He had been happy to help her steal information from Obadiah's computer and had been willing to take the risks necessary to end the terrorist presence in Gulmira; she had solicited the first and taken charge of the second. She had been willing to get her hands dirty to ensure the good guys won and the bad guys lost, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had agreed with her at every step of the way.

Megan reached her decision. She made the call.

* * *

**Thursday, December 18th, 2003 @ 01:33a, PST | Stark Industries, CA**

The metal clang of Megan's footsteps echoed in the darkness that covered Sector 16. She was making no efforts to muffle her steps as she examined her surroundings, her shoulder-mounted spotlight lighting the way for her.

“ _Stane_!” she brazenly yelled into the abyss, her voice reverberating throughout the area.

She was doing everything she could to be noticed, short of blasting the structure. Her task was simple: ensure Obadiah knew she was there and, if possible, lure him out. Phil had still been half a world away when she called him, but he had made the arrangements for S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives to assist her.

_“Director Fury already authorized us to assist your efforts to stop Stane. He's become a global security risk and must be neutralized.”_

The ambiguity of what it meant to “neutralize” Obadiah had left Megan a little queasy, but it had quickly passed once her hunch proved correct: Pepper's kidnappers brought her back to Stark Industries where they briefly met with Obadiah ( _Of fucking course!_ ) outside Sector 16 before vanishing within. All the cameras inside it had been manually shut off by the central terminal, and after they had entered the dark zone, the rest of the building's cameras shutdown as well. Jarvis had attempted to restart them, but the building's main power had been disabled — the line between it and Howard Stark's arc reactor severed. Obadiah was clearly hiding his activities within, aware that Jarvis would have access to Stark Industries' central network.

“What's the matter, Stane? Haven't got the guts to face little ol' me?” Echoes then silence answered Megan's shouts.

She growled and continued to make her way through the darkness, stomping the whole way. Before long, her spotlight finally fell over something — her reassembled Mark I armor. Off to her right, she heard the unmistakable sound of a power suit activating, like her own suit's but deeper in pitch. She jumped back, her foot-mounted repulsors adding to her momentum, and a large, metal fist crushed into the ground she had just vacated. Megan stared in shock; the limb belonged to a gigantic, dirty silver suit outfitted with twin miniguns on both wrists.

Obadiah's voice projected through the speakers. “So you built another suit after all. I'm going to enjoy killing you, Stark.”

_Well, shit._

* * *

Elsewhere in the compound, Natasha Romanoff and her team of operatives systematically combed the area for signs of Pepper Potts. Obadiah's plan, they had tentatively determined, was a simple divide and conquer strategy. Pepper and Rhodes were Megan's only human support, as far as Obadiah knew, and while Rhodes was a difficult factor to neutralize, given his military ties, preventing Pepper from aiding Megan was manageable in terms of risks and rewards. But Megan _did_ have more human support, S.H.I.E.L.D., and together, they had developed a plan of attack: Megan would act as the bait to draw out Stane, since she was the only person he would expect. Meanwhile, Natasha and her operatives would rescue Pepper while Obadiah was focused on Megan. Once Pepper was secured, the agents would help Megan neutralize Obadiah, if she hadn't done so herself already.

Pepper, however, was nowhere to be found. Megan had previously seized control of all security cameras on nearby structures, and the intel she had given them indicated that no one had left the compound by ground or air after Pepper was brought in. The structural layout had no tunnel exits, so unless Obadiah had secretly created one without anyone noticing heavy drilling equipment, Pepper _had_ to be in the building.

Natasha reached the vicinity around Obadiah's office, which had its door closed. She silently approached the door, listening cautiously for anything that might be on the other side.

“So you built another suit after all. I'm going to enjoy killing you, Stark,” said the voice of Obadiah, muffled by its passage through the door.

Natasha stared in confusion. Was Megan inside? _She should be in Sector 16_ , she thought to herself.

Her earpiece came alive, the low volume setting preventing anyone but her from hearing it. “Obadiah got his hands on the suit I made in Afghanistan and somehow made a new one. He's armed with two miniguns. Don't approach Sector 16 — he'll rip you to pieces. Just leave him to me and find Pepper!”

 _She_ is _in Sector 16 then. But then who's inside here?_

Natasha backed away from the office to a distance safe enough for her talk and brought her finger to her earpiece. “Copy that, Iron. This is Widow. Verify: are certain that Stane is in the suit? I hear his voice coming from inside his office.”

Megan said nothing for a moment, then replied, latching onto Natasha's terminology, “I hear his voice through the suit's speakers, but I can't verify, Widow. The suit is completely enclosed.”

Natasha grimaced. “All agents converge on Stane's office ASAP; Iron, keep the hostile busy but do not injure it until we verify Stane's location.”

* * *

Natasha's words seemed to reverberate in Megan's helmet as their implication sinking in. _If Obadiah isn't in the suit, then_ who _is_?

The miniguns of said suit pelted the area she had been moments prior as she hastily dodged and weaved between the storage crates outside the complex. She had quickly made her way outside, hoping her suit's dexterity would have the advantage over the other, bulkier suit. So far, the other pilot had yet to leave the ground, settling for chasing Megan on foot. She kept herself just ahead of her pursuer, allowing her to dodge the suit's frenzied assaults but keep the other pilot focused on her.

“Jarvis, we need to find a way to neutralize that suit. Can you tell what's powering it?”

“Preliminary scans indicate a power signature that closely matches your old arc reactor, ma'am.”

Megan groaned. “I guess we know what they were looking for at the house.”

“An astute observation as always, ma'am.”

Megan ignored the remark, thinking to herself, _Its running on a palladium core, and palladium is pyrophoric. That means I could neutralize it with water, but that would almost certainly injure whoever's inside._

She barely dodged another flurry of bullets but was blindsided by a storage container the attacking suit had swung at her with its other hand.

The attacking suit came to a stop near her, its wrist-mounted miniguns directed at the ground while Obadiah's voice taunted her from within it. “What's the matter, _Tony_? I can keep this up all night.”

Megan hastily picked herself up from and growled at Obadiah's use of her old name, but she suddenly grinned in realization. _“All night,” you say? Let's test that._

She rose to her full, albeit short height, and stared down the other suit like a gunslinger out of an old western movie. “Then bring it on, you bastard son of a gun barrel! I'm the Iron Woman, and I'm _fucking invincible_!”

* * *

Natasha listened with bated breath from outside Obadiah's office as she waited for the other agents to arrive.

“What's the matter, _Tony_? I can keep this up all night,” the muffled voice of Obadiah proclaimed.

She could intermittently hear other voices inside the office, and while she had been able to identify them as masculine in tone, she hadn't been able to make out what they were saying.

“Then bring it on, you bastard son of a gun barrel! I'm the Iron Woman, and I'm _fucking invincible_!”

Natasha wouldn't have admitted it aloud, but internally, she gave Megan props for managing to take such a ridiculous line and make a legitimate battle cry out of it. Regardless, what stood out to her the most was the fact she could clearly hear Megan's voice in the office despite her being outside. That meant one of two things: either someone was inside the office observing the fight via live footage, or they were doing that and remote controlling the suit Megan was fighting.

“The 'Iron Woman'? What the fuck is the _tranny_ talking about?” a male voice closer to the door said, his proximity allowing his voice to reach Natasha clearly.

“Who the fuck knows. I just hope _it_ kills Potts by accident,” another voice answered.

Natasha stared at the door. She could only presume that “it” meant Megan, but that didn't make sense unless —

Once again, Natasha swiftly but silently retreated far enough from the door. Ahead of her, she saw that most of her team had arrived, but she ignored them for the moment.

“Iron, Pepper is _in_ the suit attacking you; it's being controlled remotely. Do you copy? They're trying to trick you into _killing_ her.”

* * *

The suit containing Pepper broke the lull of action, snapping its arms to the front and opening fire. The armor was slow, however, and Megan deftly side-stepped out of the line of fire and blasted into the air.

Megan boggled at the idea of Pepper in the suit, wondering why Obadiah would bother. Suddenly, everything clicked into place in her head.

_Everything he's done to me has been a spectacle: He didn't just arrange for someone to kill me; he arranged for me to be killed by my own company's weapons. He didn't just tell me I'd been deposed as CEO; he came to my house to flaunt it and belittle me with ugly terms. And now, he's not just trying to kill me; he's trying to break me by making me kill my friend!_

Her mind flashed back to Natasha's words. _“All agents converge on Stane's office.”_ Of course he would be there. Where else would he watch her fall from grace? He wanted to strike her down while he sat in the office that had once been hers — that had once been her _father's_.

“Widow, all agents — get away from the office. _Now_.”

Megan abandoned the opposing suit and blasted towards the corner of the building her office had been. She burst through the walls of the office, pulled the caught off guard Obadiah into a headlock, and stared down his team, all of whom had trained their guns on her.

“Drop your weapons,” Megan intoned with a deadly seriousness.

The men did nothing. They neither did as Megan asked nor did they attempt to attack her. They knew that they couldn't stop her; they had seen her take blows from the remotely operated suit but get up without a moment's hesitation. Worse yet, if they tried to shoot her, they knew that their boss would invariably be caught in the cross-fire. But despite all of that, they also could not obey her.

Megan prepared to assault the men, unwilling to allow the impasse to continue, but stopped when Natasha's spoke through the voice channel. “Cover your eyes, Iron.”

Megan shut off her visual sensors as the door burst inwards, two small canisters hot on its tail. The stun and flashbang grenades exploded simultaneously, leaving the men defenseless as the S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives rushed into the room and handcuffed them. Megan restored her visuals and watched the agents do their job.

“ _No_.” Obadiah croaked out from behind the armored headlock, his eyes still blinded. “No!”

His cry oozed with anguish — pure, unadulterated anguish. He began to thrash wildly against Megan's grasp, struggling in vain to break free, to somehow undo what had just happened.

“Iron.” Megan looked up into the cold eyes of Natasha Romanoff. “We have our orders. Kill him.”

Megan stared into those eyes. The blue eyes that she knew were green when they first met. The eyes of a person who killed on command, who changed who she was from mission to mission, who was one with the shadows that ate up other, darker shadows. Would her eyes look like that someday, if she continued to work with S.H.I.E.L.D.? Would her gaze become that same, bottomless abyss? It was a truly frightening thought to her. But what frightened her more was what had almost happened her tonight. But for the presence of those hardened eyes, Megan might have killed Pepper. Accident or not, she knew she would have been unable to bear the guilt of her actions.

Megan looked down at the squirming man she held in place — the same man who tried to take everything from her and nearly succeeded. She snapped his neck.

As the life ebbed out of Obadiah's still twitching body, Megan knew she had just stepped onto a slippery slope, but she also knew that this couldn't have ended any other way.

She tossed aside the corpse, and turned gaze upon Natasha once more, her face plate opening up so that she could see those eyes with her own.

“I need to meet with Director Fury.”

* * *

**Thursday, December 18th, 2003 @ 04:46a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

“Miss Stark, a Director Fury is here to see you. He's assured me that he _'does not own your fucking house'_ and is willing to wait for your permission. Shall I let him in?”

“Yes.” _Here's hoping for a smooth ending to this god-forsaken day..._

Megan stood from the couch and began making her way towards the front door. She met him there in the entryway and saw the Director for the first time. He was an African-American man with a chin and lip beard and was decked out in black: black boots, pants, turtleneck, and leather jacket. An eye patch, likewise black, covered his left eye, under which two long scars stretched from his forehead down to his cheek. She felt sorely under dressed in her usual dark red yoga pants, short-sleeved, black zip-up hoodie, and black sandals, but she knew it didn't matter to this man. This was an individual who could pierce the outer veil with his eye and see the person behind it.

“Miss Stark, my people tell me that you practically handled the entire operation by yourself tonight.” Introductions weren't necessary, not with Fury.

“I wouldn't say single-handedly, sir. I couldn't have solved the equation without all the variables. Widow and the others got me those variables.”

Fury nodded. He had known as much but wanted to see if she could admit as much.

“I'll be honest with you, Miss Stark. When I first read that transcript of your conversation in Bost, I didn't think you'd be a good fit in my organization, but you have since proved me wrong. I have a job offer for —”

“I refuse.”

Fury quirked his one visible eyebrow. “Care to illuminate me regarding why?”

Megan coolly retorted, “Don't get me wrong, Director. I will do the job, but I refuse to accept payment for it. I'm doing this because it needs to be done.”

They stood there for a moment, their gazes locked — two titans caught up in the gravity of the other.

Finally, Fury smirked. “Iron Woman — I'm here to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative.”


	5. Chapter Four: Creating an Opportunity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_“I refuse.”_

_Fury quirked his one visible eyebrow. “Care to illuminate me regarding why?”_

_Megan coolly retorted, “Don't get me wrong, Director. I will do the job, but I refuse to accept payment for it. I'm doing this because it needs to be done.”_

_They stood there for a moment, their gazes locked — two titans caught up in the gravity of the other._

_Finally, Fury smirked. “Iron Woman — I'm here to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative.”_

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
Chapter Four: Creating an Opportunity

“It still holds true that man is most uniquely human when he turns obstacles into opportunities.”

Eric Hoffer

* * *

**Thursday, December 18th, 2003 @ 04:49a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

_“Iron Woman — I'm here to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative.”_

Megan stared incredulously at Fury. “Is that the only way you military people get your kicks? Giving all your 'initiatives' and 'missions' weird names?”

“This coming from someone who named herself the 'Iron Woman'?”

Megan crossed her arms defensively and retorted, “I didn't come up with it. I just recognized a good name when I saw one.”

Fury took a step closer to Megan, scrutinizing her with his one eye, as if she were a question on a test — a problem that needed solving. “Do you know why I thought you wouldn't be a good S.H.I.E.L.D. operative, Stark?”

Megan frowned at the man's piercing gaze and took note that he had referred to her as “Stark” rather than “Miss Stark.” _What is this guy's deal? He was under the impression that I basically took down Obadiah myself, yet he's openly called out my compatibility twice now. Unless he thinks that was an easy mission, something I should've been able to handle completely alone, then he isn't questioning my skill. Okay, check the context then: Both times he brought up my joining S.H.I.E.L.D., it was shortly after one of us mentioned —_

“You thought I wouldn't play well with others,” Megan answered matter-of-factly. She internally grimaced at taking this long to realize that was his primary concern. She had unintentionally zeroed in on her skill being the deciding factor, ignoring the fact that regardless of how skilled she was, he wouldn't want her working with his agents if she couldn't function on a team.

Fury nodded then turned his eyes away from her, glancing at the pictures on the entryway's wall. “I knew your father. He was protective of you, always keeping you with him at his company, never allowing you to attend school with other kids.”

He gestured at one of the pictures, and Megan turned her head to see which one it was. It was from her fourteenth birthday, a brief affair and her last birthday before her enrollment in MIT's online program. She was sitting at a table and blowing out the candles on her cake while her parents and Rhodes watched. Spare the photographer, who Megan vaguely recalled as being a staff member her father had pulled aside to take the shot, the four of them had been the only celebrants. Obadiah had begged off for some reason she couldn't remember, and Rhodes almost wasn't allowed to come, since Megan had only recently taken a liking to her father's military liaison.

Megan smiled softly at the memories the photo brought to mind but tempered them in light of the present company. Her gaze found Fury's face once more. “So I didn't exactly have a lot of friends growing up. I hardly see how that's relevant to whether I can be professional with teammates.”

“It has everything to do with it,” Fury replied, his voice entirely serious. “That picture's... what, nearly ten years old? Since then, your social circle has grown by exactly three: Your AI, who frankly doesn't count, Happy Hogan, and Pepper Potts. Plus, you've been the half CEO of your company for a year and a half, yet you almost never interacted with anyone outside of Potts, Stane, and Rhodes. Yes — your ability to 'play nice' was called into question.”

“Your evaluation of me has clearly changed, or you wouldn't be talking to me about this 'Avenger Initiative' of yours. So spill — what is it?” Megan said, refocusing on the present.

Fury's smirk returned. “I wouldn't want you to think I 'own your fucking house,' so I'll ask: May we use your living room?”

Megan rolled her eyes and gave a mockingly grand gesture towards said living room. “At least you had the decency to ask.”

* * *

 _Megan Stark, the Iron Woman; Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow; Clint Barton, Hawkeye; Bruce Banner, n/a; Steve Rogers, Captain America._ Megan glanced over the list of names and data on Fury's tablet once more then brandished it while fixing him with an incredulous look. “You're forming a team of people who can't be matched. What, did regular people get boring or something?”

Fury quirked his only visible eyebrow. “Not exactly. Tell me, Stark: If you hadn't had your suit, then what would it have taken to stop Stane's?”

Megan frowned. “Well, presuming he actually built one without ripping off my idea...” She paused, thinking back to her fight in Gulmira and how she had been shot by a tank and remained unfazed. _It might've been a different story if there'd been more of them, but that wouldn't have been very practical. No, they'd need to use something bigger than the average fare, and that would've made the risk to civilians_ a lot _higher._ “I see your point. His suit could've been trashed eventually, but it would have taken some seriously dangerous weapons to do it.” She glanced at the list again. “To be honest, this Bruce Banner fellow sounds like he's a _lot_ worse than those weapons.”

Fury nodded. “We're working on other options as well, naturally, but that doesn't mean this one is moot. If someone remarkable, like you, were to start causing trouble for the world, then an obvious response is to fight fire with fire.”

Megan's frown eased up, giving way to curiosity. “So where does that leave us? Your list says Barton already works for you, so that means you've got three Avengers: Romanoff, Barton, and me. The Captain...”

She paused briefly, the mention of the veteran reminding her of the times she would watch old videos with her parents as a little girl. They had been cheesy, but her parents — her father in particular — had supplemented them with war stories about the Captain's bravery and devotion to protecting the U.S. The tales had been inspiring but always tinged with a sense of mourning, since he had vanished while on a mission.

She collected herself and continued. “The Captain is missing. That leaves Dr. Banner unaccounted for.”

“And your first mission is fixing that.”

* * *

**Monday, December 28th, 2003 @ 04:08p, EST | Route del la Baie-James, near Lac Kachisikamach, Quebec, Canada**

“I don't get it. What the _hell_ is wrong with this bloody thing?!”

Bruce Banner took a deep breath and checked the heart monitor strapped to his wrist. _92... Keep it together, Banner! The last thing you need is to become... him again._

Bruce was grateful that the trucker had agreed to give him a ride, but the semi had faltered some time after that, sending the trucker into a half-frenzied panic as he tried to fix the engine and get back on schedule. His frantic shouts and curses at the broken hunk of metal had begun to slowly grate on Bruce, who had begun to debate whether he should start walking instead. He could not allow himself to become angry.

The trucker's ranting and Bruce's thoughts were interrupted by the roar of an engine. Bruce initially thought the truck had come to life but realized that the sound was completely different than the dull rumble of the truck and that the new sound was clearly coming from behind him, somewhere down the road. Bruce couldn't see anything from the passenger side of the cabin, but it didn't matter, since the source of the sound — a red sports car of all things — screechingly braked, pulling off the road in front of the truck and coming to a halt. The driver-side door flipped open, the suicide-style door eliciting Bruce's curiosity. He hadn't expected to see this type of extravagance in the middle of Quebec.

The driver, a somewhat petite woman decked out in attire suitable for the chilly Canadian winter, climbed out of the car. She glanced at the trucker and the exposed engine block, her face obscured by her red Oakley pulses and a matching red scarf, and asked in an American accent, “What's the problem?”

The trucker, who had still been tinkering with the engine, twisted the upper half of his body around to acknowledge the lady's presence. “This god-forsaken hunk of metal won't work, even though there's nothing wrong with it!”

Bruce took a deep breath and gave his monitor a furtive glance. _95..._ When he looked back up, he was surprised to see the lady staring at him intently, as if she had seen his look and knew what he was checking on. _That's impossible though. Even if the military were aware of my episode up here, they surely wouldn't have sent one person to collect me, and they definitely would've done it quicker. It's been... What, three days?_

The lady's eyes returned to the trucker, who had already returned to glaring at his engine and had missed the shift in her attention. “Well, I'm afraid all I can do is offer you my phone to make a call and maybe give your friend a lift.” She fully focused her attention on Bruce. “How about it? Where are you heading?”

Bruce was torn. On the one hand, he needed to distance himself from the trucker's anger, but on the other, he wasn't sure how he felt about riding with the lady. Something about her offer seemed... off. She clearly stood out as an oddity, in light of her high-class commodities and American accent, and she had summarily dismissed the trucker and quickly focused on himself instead. _Maybe I'm taking this too seriously. I know I've got reason to be paranoid, but that doesn't mean General Ross is coming to get me every time something weird happens._ “Matagami, if you don't mind, Miss...?”

The lady pushed up her sunglasses and pulled down her scarf, revealing her blue eyes and wide, mirthful smile. “Stark.”

Bruce stared at her wide-eyed in recognition.

* * *

“S-so, Miss Stark,” Bruce stuttered after he and Megan had piled into her car and taken off down the road, thankfully at a speed that wouldn't make Bruce's heart rate rise in panic. “I hope you d-don't mind me asking... You're _Megan_ Stark, r-right?”

Megan smirked. “So easily star struck! I'd be happy to give you an autograph, if you'd like,” she said, finishing with a wink.

In spite of himself, Bruce weakly chuckled at her jest. “I wouldn't dream of imposing,” he replied. “I... saw the press conference. I'm sorry they reacted so poorly.” _God, where did that come from? Smooth, Banner — you ruined the conversation in less than five minutes._

The smirk on Megan's face faded at the mention of the press conference, and her body language became noticeably stiffer. “That. Yeah. Thanks.”

They sat in awkward silence for awhile as Megan deftly navigated the road. Bruce didn't trust himself to open his mouth and busied himself with watching the scenery fly by. Eventually, Megan sighed and said, “So you have questions or something, right? It's not like you caused that disaster, so apologizing is just an excuse to dig into the matter. Let's just get it out of the way.”

Bruce frowned, caught off-guard. “I'll admit that I'm curious, but I really was sad to hear about how they treated you. I...” Bruce paused, carefully picking his words, then continued. “I understand how it feels to be treated like you're not normal.”

Megan's eyes widened slightly at his statement. _That_ is _true, isn't?_ she thought to herself. “Oh. Well I'm sorry for being bitchy then,” she muttered.

“No, no,” Bruce replied. “Don't be. Anyway, what are you doing in Quebec, Miss Stark?”

“Megan,” she offhandedly corrected. “And I'm here because of you, Dr. Banner.” _Let's hope this works..._

The interior of Megan's car was warm from its heating system, but that didn't stop Bruce from feeling a chill rise up his spine. His eyes darted to his heart monitor, a '112' on its screen.

“Jarvis,” Megan said, “take over steering for me and don't hit a deer or anything.”

“Very well, ma'am. I'll take deer off the menu for dinner.”

Megan twisted in her seat to face the panic-stricken Bruce, her blue eyes boring into his own blue orbs. “Please don't get angry, Dr. Banner. I swear to you that I'm not taking you in.”

“You _swear_?!” Bruce snarled, his irises momentarily flashing neon green. He couldn't help it — he was so angry at falling right into the government's hands.

Megan cringed, thankful that Jarvis was driving instead of her. “Yes!” she hastily answered. “I'm here because I want you to have a _choice_ for once!”

That caught Bruce off-guard. “W-what? A choice?”

The window of opportunity was open — Megan took the plunge. “Yes, a choice. General Ross has been chasing you because he thinks you're a weapon. He thinks you're U.S. property. The people I'm working with think of you as a weapon too, but I _insisted_ that you should have a choice. I know you'll make the right one.”

Megan pulled off her jacket and partially unzipped the black hoodie she wore underneath — just enough to expose the arc reactor in her sternum. Bruce stared at it, a confused look replacing the previous, angry one. “Is that an... arc reactor?”

She nodded, pleased that he already recognized the technology. That meant she could skip that part of the explanation. “You said you saw the press conference. Then you know about the attack.” When Bruce nodded, she continued. “I've got a cluster of shrapnel in me, trying every second to crawl its way into my heart. This stops it — this little circle of light. It's part of me now. Dr. Banner, I've read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure should have killed you.”

Bruce interrupted her with a snort, understanding dawning. “You're saying that the other guy saved my life?” He shrugged dismissively. “That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. But save it for what?”

She reached forward slowly with her hand and gripped Bruce's hand, never taking her eyes away from Bruce's face. “Bruce,” she said, the name leaving an interesting taste on her tongue as she said it. “You have a choice. You can be a weapon, or you can be a shield.”

 _She's serious, isn't she?_ “What makes you think the people you work for won't just turn me over to General Ross? Or try to use me like he is?”

“Work _with_ , not for,” Megan corrected offhandedly as she released her grip on Bruce's hand and reached into one of her hoodie's pockets. Bruce found himself oddly wishing she had used her other hand — the warmth of her hand had surprisingly been a welcome feeling. She pulled out what was probably the most advanced cell phone he'd ever seen and, after she pressed a couple of buttons, she passed it to him. He retrieved his reading glasses from his jacket and looked at the phone. On its screen was a picture of what appeared to be two robots: one was dull gray and looked like it had been a serious rush job and the other was much sleeker and decked out in red and gold.

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. “How exactly do robots answer my question?”

The mirthful smile and eyes that had adorned Megan's face earlier came back in full force. “They're suits of armor, not robots. I built the plain metal one while in terrorist captivity and used it to escape. I built the other one back home in just over a week and used it to fly to Afghanistan and fight the remnants of the terrorists who kidnapped me.” Seriousness replaced her mirth. “If I'd been anyone else, I would have died in the cave those bastards kept me in. If I'd been anyone else, I would have died when they shot me with a tank. But I am me, and I'm changed now. I'm not just Megan Stark, CEO of Stark Industries.” Fire entered her eyes as she finished. “I'm also Megan Stark, the Iron Woman, and I'm going not going to sit back while the world goes to hell around me. I'm not going to continue to let people die from things _I can prevent_. Bruce, I can't promise you people won't treat you like a weapon. I _can_ promise you that if you choose to be a shield, then I'll help you stop the deaths that _we_ can prevent.”

Bruce drank in her eyes and the flames that danced in them. She was nothing if not passionate, and he wanted to believe her — he wanted to believe that he could be more than a monster. He had been depressed since his failed suicide attempt a few days ago, having honestly lost sight of what he should be doing in life. He pulled the trigger because he hadn't see a way out of his nightmare, and it had only become worse after the other guy spat the bullet out. Could he be a shield instead of a weapon? Was it so wrong to wish that people would stop treating him like he was always the other guy? Megan was the first person who had done so since his accident. She had known about the other guy and had not only fearlessly sought him out anyway but also had arranged for him to ride together with her in her car. Even if she secretly had backup following them by car or helicopter, there was no way she wouldn't be harmed before help arrived if became angry. Megan remained silent while Bruce internally debated whether to accept her offer.

Eventually, Bruce replied, “I have some questions I'd like you to answer.”

Megan nodded without hesitation. She had expected that he wouldn't be swayed easily; he had, after all, been on the run from the government for the past five years. “Ask away, big guy.”

Bruce blinked at the moniker but plowed ahead anyway. “First, where are you taking me?”

“That depends on whether you still want to go to Matagami or if you want to just come home with me.”

“Err,” Bruce said, caught off guard yet again. “Are you asking me if I want to... to stay at _your_ home?”

It was Megan's turn to blink. “Well, yeah? I mean, I might work with S.H.I.E.L.D. ("Those are the people I work with, by the way. Worst acronym _ever_."), but that doesn't mean I trust them to take care of you properly. Besides, my place is nice! Sure, people keep breaking in like they own the fucking place, and my garage door has a huge hole blown through it from... You know what? Never mind. It's a great place — truly lovely. You should totally stay with me.” A wicked grin crossed crept across her face as she realized what he was actually bothered about. “Or are you worried I might try to do something scandalous in the middle of the night? Should I call your mom and ask if you can bunk over?”

Bruce's face strongly resembled the color of Megan's Audi for the remainder of the journey to Matagami, constantly being refreshed by a stream of innuendo, courtesy of Megan. His remaining questions, and his depression, were forgotten.

* * *

**Monday, December 28th, 2003 @ 08:41p, EST | Aéroport de Matagami, the Tarmac**

“You really want to put _me_ in a _pressurized_ airplane?”

Megan elbowed Bruce playfully, replying, “We _could_ just drive the whole way, but I didn't pack another change of clothes. Besides, you'll be fine, Bruce! This is my plane, so you won't have to sit next to someone you barely know who refuses to stop talking about god knows what.”

Bruce groaned. “Oh yes, Megan. I surely wouldn't want that. _Thank heavens_ I have _you_ to talk to me about god knows what instead.”

“Yes, you are truly fortunate,” she replied sagely before outright laughing.

“By the way,” Bruce said, “how exactly are you planning to get me past customs? I smuggled my way into Canada, I don't have a passport, and even if I had a passport, the military would have it flagged.”

Megan reached into her purse, procured a U.S. passport, and handed it to Bruce. “The perks of working with an intelligence agency, Bruce — fake, not flagged, I.D. I hope you don't mind being 'Brock Hoult,' my friend who I came out to spend time with and who is now coming back with me to savor warm weather for a change.” Bruce's only reply was a chuckle.

Megan left the loading of her Audi in the hands of her flight crew and made her way to the staircase entry into the plane. As she climbed the stairs, she reflected on how well everything had gone. Bruce hadn't actually said he was on board, but she had successfully gotten past the whole 'I know you turn into an enormous green rage monster when you lose control — want to live at my place?' matter. Her cheeks took on a light dusting of pink at the thought of Bruce living in her home. On the one hand, she hadn't lied: It was true that she didn't trust him in the hands of S.H.I.E.L.D., and it _was_ more practical for him to stay with her than in whatever other location she could conjure up for him. On the other: _Should I mention how much I love his work on anti-electron collisions, or would that be awkward? I really don't want to come across as some kind of fangirl! Wait, why do I care? I mean, I don't want to tick him off enough that he'll change in my bedr—_

Megan stopped in the middle of the plane's hatch, her brain's gears thrown out of alignment by the direction of her thoughts. _Jesus, why am I thinking of him in my bedroom?! Abort! Just play it cool!_

She turned to face Bruce and say something — anything — to get her mind off of the logistics of him staying in her house, but Bruce, who had been caught up in his own thoughts, reached the top of the stairs and inadvertently walked right into her, sending the two of them tumbling to the floor of the plane.

“Ow...” Megan muttered while Bruce winced and reflexively checked his heart rate monitor, which proudly displayed an “86.” The fall hadn't caused his heart rate to rise that much. His years of training in calming himself had done their duty.

Bruce released a thankful sigh and moved to get up but froze when he saw how they had landed: Megan was lying on the ground face-up, and he had landed on top of her in a compromising position. Megan had instinctively closed her eyes in the fall, and when she opened them, she found Bruce's face in close proximity to her own. Her cheeks' previous light pink coloring erupted into a furious blush as her imagination returned unbidden to its previous antics. _When did I become so fucking fixated on sex? Would he even me okay with doing it with me? Gah! I'm doing it again!_ she awkwardly wondered to herself.

This was an area Megan had no experience in, albeit not for lake of invitation from others. Men — and some women — had been trying to jump her bones since her teenage years, and her ascendance to CEO tossed a tanker full of kerosene on that particular fire. She _had_ always, and not always politely, refused. She had been interested in some ( _Okay, more than just some_ , Megan admitted to herself.) of the would-be-paramours, regardless of their sex, but she still hadn't had her surgery yet, and she wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of having sex while she was still, in her mind, improperly equipped. That and, until the press conference, she had been stealth about being a transwoman — any one of those suitors could've blabbed about her secret if she had told them.

The obvious solution would be to have a vaginoplasty and orchiectomy, but she had abstained at her father's request. This had been his one request regarding her early transition: Wait until she was twenty-five years old to have the irreversible surgeries. She would always be thankful for his total support on every other matter, and the logic of waiting wasn't unsound, so she had waited. She had waited even after he and her mother died in the car accident. She loved her father dearly for being there for her, and it would've felt like a betrayal of his memory to do it before the appointed day arrived.

“Oh!” a voice from nearby said, tearing Megan from her thoughts. Her eyes flicked in that direction and identified the voice as the same attendant who had walked in on her and Rhodes during her flight to the weapons demonstration in Afghanistan. “I'm so sorry, Miss Stark!” she said and beat a hasty retreat, muttering about Megan's “odd fantasies.”

Bruce's face matched Megan's as he scrambled to his feet and began helping her up. “I _swear_ it's not what it looks like!” he yelled in the direction the attendant had left.

Megan's voice, honed by years of snarky and mischievous comments, kicked into auto-drive. “You _swear_?” she stated with a wicked grin.

Bruce turned to face her and stared, his blush somehow getting brighter at her reference to his words from earlier that day.

Megan blinked. “Shit. I just said that aloud, didn't I?” She gestured wildly into the plane, saying, “Please go find somewhere to hang out. I clearly need a break from the awkward.”

Bruce was so distracted that he didn't check his monitor for once and missed seeing the “108.”

* * *

In the distance, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who had watched the duo board the plane via binoculars picked up his phone. “Agent Romanoff, ma'am? Stark has boarded her plane with Banner in tow.”

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 @ 08:13a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

The duo napped on the flight to LAX, so they were refreshed when they landed. Once they made it to Megan's house, Bruce found that he liked it quite a bit. Part of its appeal was undoubtedly the fact that it was easily the nicest residence he'd been in his entire life, much less the past five years, but the other part was Megan's workshop. The first thing he had done upon the duo's arrival was take a shower, but he had scarcely managed to pull a fresh change of clothes on (He thankfully had had some changes in his pack.) before Megan dragged him downstairs, excitedly assuring him that she has " _all_ the toys.” True to her word, the workshop was a wonderland of technology; a wonderland dominated primarily by dozens of schematics with corresponding arc reactors of varying degrees of completion.

“Megan, what's up with all of these arc reactors? Are you working on an improved design for yourself?”

Megan, who had been making her way towards a circular groove on the ground, stopped and turned to face him. “Yes and no. Yes, I'm working on new models for myself but not in the way you're thinking of,” she said, guessing that he was referring to the reactor in her chest. “These are the future of Stark Industries! We're going into the clean energy business. We'll be the only real name in it by the time I'm done.”

Bruce quirked an eyebrow and half muttered to himself, “You really aren't making weapons anymore.”

“You thought I was lying,” Megan asked somewhat askance. “Bruce, video of that conference is on the internet, and we both know that means it's true!”

“I'll admit I wasn't entirely sure after you showed me the suit you built,” Bruce replied with a chuckle at Megan's joke.

“Fair. But the suit is only for me, and I already told you why.”

 _“I'm going not going to sit back while the world goes to hell around me. I'm not going to continue to let people die from things_ I can prevent _.”_

“You did.” Bruce paused then replied, “I'm sorry for doubting you. It's been... hard to be trusting while on the run from the military.”

Megan could appreciate that, so she nodded in understanding, mentally soothing the mild hurt she had felt at his distrust. She turned back to the groove she had been approaching and said, “Speaking of the suit.”

They sat there for a second, neither saying anything and nothing happening. Eventually, Megan's eye twitched. “Jarvis, that's totally your cue for the epic reveal! Your timing needs work, buddy.”

“My sincerest apologies, ma'am. I'll be sure to review the dramatic timing training video and do better next time.”

Bruce stared at her. “Did you really make a training video?”

“Hell no,” Megan replied, rolling her eyes. “He's just being an ass.” And with that said, Megan brought her right arm up in the direction of the groove and gestured upwards with her hand.

The circle smoothly rose, revealing a suit of armor with a different color scheme than from the one in the picture Megan had showed Bruce. The gold sections had remained, but their red counterparts had been replaced by a midnight black finish, and the blue eye slits were now red.

Bruce gave a soft “hmm” of appraisal as he looked over the machine. When he noticed that the gold sections were not, in fact, a painted color, he asked, “Is this a gold alloy? I'm curious: Why would you choose that?”

“It's a gold-titanium alloy, and it keeps me from becoming an Iron Woman popsicle,” Megan jokingly answered.

“You don't think you'd be tasty popsicle?” Bruce replied, making a joke of his own.

Megan couldn't stop her voice before it replied for her. “Give me a lick and let me know.”

Bruce choked on his own reply but was interrupted when Jarvis announced, “Ma'am, Miss Potts has arrived.”

 _At least_ someone _has good timing_ , Megan thought to herself her cheeks red with embarrassment at her own words. “That's Pepper, my personal aid. If you'll just excuse me,” Megan hurriedly told Bruce before rushing towards the door, using Pepper's arrival as an opportunity to escape.

Bruce glanced at his wrist. _102\. She's going to make me change if she keeps making those types of comments!_ He turned his eyes back towards Megan as she began to rush up the stairs. The idea of the two of them together briefly flickered to life in his mind. _Is that something I want? Betty and I were dating once, but as long as her dad is chasing me, it's impossible to rekindle that._ Bruce's face grew grave. _Is that something I can even handle as long as the other guy exists?_

* * *

Pepper and Megan collided at the top of the staircase and fell into a heap on the floor, neither having seen the other coming. Pepper was not used to Megan actually leaving her workshop to meet her, and Megan's eyes had been riveted to the glass barrier between the bottom of the stairwell and her workshop.

“Megan,” Pepper ground out in frustration as she picked herself up. “Please watch where you're going when decide to abandon the norm.”

Megan winced as she rose as well, knowing that Pepper was technically right. “Yeah, sorry,” she quickly, and evasively, replied. “So! You. Here. What's up?”

Pepper blinked at the odd choppiness of Megan's words and the blush on her cheeks, unaware that Megan's heart was still hammering from her encounter downstairs. “I... I have a lot of paperwork I need to go over with you. We're still reeling from the press conference, your forced deposal, and your recent reinstatement.” She waited a moment, expecting Megan's eyes to glaze over and for the genius to begin tackling the to-do list without being told what's on it. After a couple of seconds without Megan's eyes glazing, Pepper eventually began to read the first item off the list on her clipboard. “In addition to the paperwork, you need to meet with the head of production about the arc reactor plans you've been working on. You're our entire R&D department — it's a necessity if anything's going to get done. I know you already signed all the paperwork to be the official CEO again, but you still need to meet with the board about everything that's happened. Don't forget that Obadiah... officially died in a plane crash. And we need to get started on planning the Stark Expo. We're seriously behind schedule on it, and if we don't hurry, it's not going to happen.”

Megan had managed to somewhat calm herself by the time Pepper was finished. “I'll send the production head the blueprints, but I'm not meeting with her. Tell the board the same; I'm not going to stop being a recluse just because the prick died. If they insist, then you've got my permission to be me for a meeting, you lucky gal you. And the Expo is a huge waste of money anyway, so let's just scrap the plans. We can just have a tech demonstration instead and show off our arc reactor, which will be built by then. And yes, I'll do that one public showing, at least. I've got the appropriate flair blah blah.”

Megan began to walk back downstairs but Pepper caught her shoulder. “Meg, wait,” she said. “You still haven't signed the paperwork I need, and I... We need to talk about what happened.”

Megan groaned still facing down the stairs. “Pep, we have talked about it. The prick went off the deep end, and I saved you using a full-body power suit. What else is there to discuss?”

“Don't get evasive on me, Megan! Why did you build that thing in the first place? What are you doing with it?” Pepper growled out.

“I already told you that too: I can't tell you.”

“Megan, you need to give me more to go off of than that! I know you're my boss, but I... I thought we were _friends_ , Meg,” Pepper said, finishing in a morose tone.

That gave Megan pause. The two of them were silent for a minute, Pepper waiting on some form of reply and Megan wrestling with herself over what to say. Eventually, Pepper huffed and started to stalk towards the door, but before she could exit, Megan called out to her. “Wait!”

Pepper stopped and looked over her shoulder with a harsh look. Megan had returned to the top of the stairs and was gazing at her, her blue eyes full of sorrow. “Pep, you _are_ my friend. I'm sorry if I'm not acting like it. What I'm doing... I'm involved in things I don't want to drag you into. And it's not just you — I don't want to drag Rhodey into it either.”

Pepper's gaze softened. She turned back and closed the distance between the two of them and enveloped her in a hug. Megan returned the hug, her grip strong. She didn't want to get Pepper any more involved than she had to, but she didn't want to lose her either.

After a moment, Pepper pulled back, her eyes shimmering, and said, “I figured. God, after everything that happened with Obadiah, I couldn't help but put together some pieces. Just... Just let me know if you need me, okay?”

Megan firmly nodded but said nothing. Pepper wordlessly handed her the paperwork and, after it was finished, took her leave.

Megan watched Pepper go and when she finally left her sight, she turned to go down the stairs beside her and saw Bruce was waiting at the bottom of them. He gave her a meaningful look and said, “If it helps, I know how you feel. I was dating my research partner when... the accident happened. I've wanted to meet with her, tell her I'm all right and about what happened to me, but I can't. Her dad is a general — General Ross. He's the one who's been chasing me for the past five years.”

Megan grimaced. Bruce wasn't sure what caused it, exactly, but he was willing to bet it was his mention of Betty. Before Bruce could say anything about it, Megan gestured for him to come upstairs. “Let's find you a room, Bruce.”

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 @ 07:20p, EST | Langley AFB, Hampton, VA**

“No, no, no, no...” Joe, an air force officer, muttered to himself as he tapped his keyboard, flipping through the customs reports for the day. _I hate the graveyard shift. I know round-the-clock scheduled shifts are a necessary if General Ross is going to catch this guy, but this shift is_ god awful.

He clicked away another report and almost did the same for the following one but froze when he saw the picture tagged with the name. He compared it to his reference photo — it was the target.

 _Brock Hoult? Nice try, Banner._ He picked up the nearby phone. “Get me General Ross. Tell him I've found Banner.”

* * *

Ross was on base and quickly arrived at Joe's room. When he got there, Joe saluted him and gave the full details of his discovery. When he finished, he said, “You left instructions that a retrieval team be assembled immediately if he's found. I got you who I could, sir. Short notice, but they're all quality. And I pulled you one ace: Emil Blonsky. Born in Russia, raised in England, and on loan to SOCOM from the Royal Marines. They're waiting for you in the plane.”

“Good work, soldier. I know you cashed in some chips for this, Joe,” Ross grunted.

“Glad I could help. Just make it good.”

* * *

When Ross arrived on the plane, he filled in the small team on their mission. After he finished, Blonsky spoke up. “Is the target a fighter?”

Ross stared down the blonde-haired soldier. A scowl was set on his face and had a grizzled appearance on account of his five-o'clock shadow. He was also clearly aged; Ross pegged him as in his early- to mid-forties. Regardless of how good this man supposedly was, he would inevitably be unfit for missions soon enough. “Your target,” Ross answered, “is a fugitive from the U.S. government who stole military secrets.” Although this wasn't true, it was in Ross' eyes, since he considered Banner to be government property after the experiment's monstrous results. He continued, saying, “He is also implicated in the deaths of two scientists, a military officer, and Idaho state trooper, and possibly two Canadian hunters. So _don't_ wait to see if he's a fighter! Tranq him and bring him back.”

Blonsky's scowl remained, but he grunted and nodded, wordlessly showing he understood.

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 @ 07:48p, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

Maria Hill, Director Fury's right hand agent, was busy handling paperwork — easily the least glamorous part of her job — when her phone began to ring. “This is Hill,” she said, answering it.

“Agent Hill, ma'am,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “We have a problem.”

Maria couldn't place the voice, but that wasn't surprising — S.H.I.E.L.D. had a staff that numbered in the thousands. “What's wrong?”

“We just received word that General Ross from the Air Force knows Dr. Banner is at Stark's residence. He's got a team and will be there in minutes.”

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 @ 06:49p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

After Megan had appointed one of her guest rooms as now belonging to Bruce, she started headed back down to her workshop to do some last minute tinkering on the arc reactor that would be replicated in large scale for Stark Industries' energy project. Bruce had asked whether he could be in there as well, and Megan happily replied that she didn't mind. Once downstairs, Megan had gotten to work while Bruce pulled out his laptop. And so the day went, the two keeping one another company while focusing on their individual tasks. Every now and then, Bruce had discretely watched her from the corner of his eye, admiring the passion she put into her work and — though he would never admit it — her body as well.

Later in the evening, Bruce managed to once again tear his eyes from the black-haired gear monkey and pulled up his encrypted chat program to contact his associate, Mr. Blue, who he had been working on a cure for his “problem” with. He had been using the program to avoid the military's notice, and even though he suspected Megan's network was secure from prying eyes, the same could not be said on Mr. Blue's end.

[Mr. Blue,] Bruce typed. [I have news.]

[Mr. Green! Good hearing from you again after so long, my mysterious friend! What's the news? Did you figure out the cure yourself?]

 _It has been awhile, hasn't it?_ Bruce thought to himself. The two of them had been tackling the problem for years but had not been in contact since their latest effort to cure Bruce failed. After so many failures, Bruce had given up hope on ridding himself of the other guy, which led to his recent escapade in Canada.

[No. I've found a new place to stay, and I'm changing my focus from curing to controlling.]

[Oh? What brought this on?]

Bruce took a second to mull over how to answer then typed, [My landlady is convincing.] Bruce snorted at the half truth. Megan wasn't officially his “landlady,” but for the time being, it was technically true. And it _had_ been her to convince him. Granted, he still wasn't on board with the idea of being an “Avenger,” but he had warmed up to the notion of trying to find a way to control the other guy. He knew that he was not approaching the matter completely rationally, but this was the first sign of hope after he reached rock bottom. He was willing to try anything at this point.

[Mysterious as ever. As for controlling, I'm not sure how to approach that problem without you coming here for analysis.]

_That's unlikely to happen. God, I feel unsafe enough just being back in the U.S., much less if I were in NYC._

Before Bruce could clack out a reply, Jarvis' voice filled the room. “Miss Stark, you have a phone call from a Maria Hill of S.H.I.E.L.D. She says it's an emergency.”

Megan looked up from the piece of metal she had been welding and unconsciously pushed up her goggles. She wasn't familiar with the name, but she said it was an emergency and that she was with S.H.I.E.L.D. “Fine. Patch her through.” She waited a split second for Jarvis to connect the lines then said, “What is it, Agent Hill?”

“General Ross knows Banner is with you and is almost there with a team to take him in. Take him and leave _now_. We have a helicopter making its way to your general location that will rendezvous with you ASAP,” Maria replied, quickly giving Megan the important details.

Bruce growled, the sound in his throat deep and low. Megan had already thrown her goggles aside and begun to rush towards the grove that concealed her suit, a primal “ _shit_!” her response to Maria's warning.

Halfway there, it occurred to her that she didn't know whether Bruce knew how to drive or would even be in condition to under the pressure of the military swooping in. She turned back to face him just as he finished hurriedly typing, [Have to go. I will contact you later.]

“Can you drive?” she asked, her voice laced with worry.

Bruce checked his monitor: 137. “No,” he replied, his voice sounding normal again, albeit panicked. He began to suppress his heart rate as much as possible with breathing exercises.

Jarvis had already raised the suit by the time Megan reached it. His timing was perfect — there was no room for jokes in a danger situation. “Get in the Audi,” Megan said as she moved into position to don the suit. It would be a tight fit in the car, but she would make it work.

Bruce snapped the computer shut, threw it in his bag, and raced to the passenger door of the vehicle. Once there, his eyes noticed the suit being installed around Megan and stopped in awe, in spite of the adrenaline blazing through his veins. It had been one thing to see the suit in storage and another altogether to see robotic arms break it apart and reassemble it around Megan. He could see it now. He could really see her as some kind of superheroine. However, it wasn't just the suit that completed the picture. It was also the fire in her blue eyes as the suit enveloped her: the same fire they had held in the car when she was trying to convince him to be an Avenger. Unbidden, her words rang through his ears once more. _“I'm not just Megan Stark, CEO of Stark Industries... I'm also Megan Stark, the Iron Woman.”_

Her face plate snapped into place, Megan's fiery eyes replaced by glowing red slits. “Let's go,” she said, the suit projecting her voice. The duo piled into the car — just barely in Megan's case — and took off, the car's engine roaring.

* * *

As the Audi charged out of the driveway, the duo discovered that Ross was not, in fact, minutes away. A helicopter began to descend upon the fleeing car almost instantly, and the voice of whom Megan could guessed was Ross boomed out of an externally mounted speaker. “Banner! Give yourself up!”

Megan didn't slow down but turned to Bruce, who was clutching his arm rests and breathing heavily, and asked him, “It's your call, Bruce. I'm behind you either way.”

Bruce gave her a look of gratitude, though it was hard to tell because his eyes were still panic-stricken. “Get me away from populated areas. If they keep this up, I'm bound to change.”

“Gotcha. We're cheesing it.”

Megan tore down state road 1 like a bat out of hell, weaving in and out of traffic while the helicopter followed from above. Bruce checked his monitor: 148. “Jarvis!” she called out. “Get Hill back on the line.”

“Right away, ma'am,” Jarvis replied.

The phone didn't even ring before Hill picked up the phone, immediately asking, “What's your location, Stark? We need to get you away before Ross gets there.”

“Too late,” Megan said as she narrowly dodged around a semi. “The party's already started without you. You're still invited to attend though. We _have_ to get Bruce somewhere he's safe to transform, if it comes down to it. I'm in a red Audi R8, heading west on state road 1. Does that chopper have a navigation system? Jarvis can send it our GPS data.”

“Understood, and yes, it has a nav system. We're the only VTOL in the area. Link the data to us, and we'll extract Banner. We're trying to call off Ross, but he's gone rogue on this.”

“Done deal,” Megan replied, appreciative of Maria's directness given the situation.

Bullets began to hail down on the car, causing Megan to curse and swerve out of the way, nearly side swiping the next car over. Bruce growled, the sound nigh inhuman, and screamed, “Damn you, Ross! Why won't just leave me the fuck alone?!”

 _Damn it_ , Megan thought to herself. _I want to believe S.H.I.E.L.D. will make it in time, but if Ross is desperate enough to shoot at the car while we're still near people..._ “Bruce,” she said as she began to weave more erratically to throw off the shooters. “What's your heart rate, and at what point will you change?”

Bruce checked and replied, “175, and I usually ch—” Another shower of bullets hit them, one of them hitting the floor between Bruce's feet. “ _Fuck_!” Bruce yelled, distracted enough to not finish his sentence.

 _I can't rile him up more than he already is. I'll have to tread carefully_. “Bruce,” Megan said again, calmly but firmly. “I need you to focus for me. What rate will you change at?”

Bruce took a deep breath, swallowed, and responded. “It varies. Somewhere between 180-190.”

 _And he's already at 175? Well, shit. This plan isn't going to work, so what's plan B?_ Her eyes glazed over and, after a second of thought, she asked, “Can you swim?”

“Why th—”

“Bruce, honey,” she calmly interrupted. “Trust me. It's important.”

“Y-yes,” he staggered out.

“Then hold on to me and close your eyes.”

* * *

From his perch in the helicopter above the car, Blonsky frowned at Megan's speeding car as if his glare alone would cause it to stop. He had fired on it twice to no avail and was accordingly pissed. He wasn't the only one.

“Damn it, Blonsky, I said _stop_!” Ross yelled, his face red with anger. “We can only used tranquilizers! Stop shooting with god-forsaken bullets!”

Blonsky growled. “Tranq darts aren't going to stop the car, _sir_ ,” he tersely replied.

Ross knew he was right, but he couldn't warn him about the danger he was putting them in without explaining what Banner would become when enraged.

Blonsky raised his gun to fire, and Ross moved to stop him, but before either could do anything, Megan made her move. The driver-side door of the car opened and a black blur they could barely see rocketed out of the car, which continued to steer through traffic. The blur flew out over the ocean, quickly escaping the chopper and beginning to disappear into the already dark winter night.

“What the hell?” Blonsky asked no one in particular while Ross yelled, “No! He can't get away!”

Blonsky brought his gun to bear, aimed at the black mass, and took a shot while he still could. An inhuman shout pierced the black night a moment later, but the mass was already gone.

“Am I still tailing the car, sir?” the pilot asked from up front.

“Yes,” Ross answered without hesitation. “Someone's clearly driving it still, and if nothing else, we can get more information out of them.”

* * *

“No!” Megan yelled as Bruce began to change. “Just hang on, Bruce!” Megan yelled. Her plan had almost worked without a hitch, despite being developed on the fly. Jarvis was steering the car, which avoided the necessity of a messy crash that might injure pedestrians, and she had hauled ass out of there with Bruce in tow, the dark skies giving her mostly black armor camouflage. She had counted on her suit's much greater speed to get them to safety before they shot at her and Bruce, but she had curbed her speed enough to keep Bruce safe from harm, unaware that he would have unconsciously changed had his human body reached its limit. Now, she was paying the price.

“Nearest uninhabited island, Jarvis. Now,” she asked as she abandoned all safety precautions and approached the sound barrier without breaking it. The suit could have flown at over Mach two, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She wanted to trust that he would be fine, now that he was transforming — to focus on getting him where he could do no harm — but it was more difficult than she thought it would be. Despite having only met him just over twenty-four hours ago, she had swiftly grown to care about him. The logical part of her brain was screaming at her that he would be fine, but another part she couldn't place screamed back in turn that she couldn't risk killing him.

 _When did he become so important to me?_ Megan wondered as Bruce's form grew larger by the moment, forcing her to adjust her grip.

“Turn southwest, ma'am,” Jarvis replied. Megan swore his normally calm voice was laced with something akin to fear, but she might have been imagining it.

Bruce roared once more and began trying to shake himself free. Megan held on as best as she could but was fighting a losing battle. “Jarvis, send Hill our location. Tell he—” Bruce's flailing hand struck her head, knocking her out.


	6. Chapter Five: The Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***WARNING: AMPUTATION occurs in this chapter. Reader be advised.
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_“Nearest uninhabited island, Jarvis. Now,” she asked as she abandoned all safety precautions and approached the sound barrier without breaking it. The suit could have flown at over Mach two, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She wanted to trust that he would be fine, now that he was transforming — to focus on getting him where he could do no harm — but it was more difficult than she thought it would be. Despite having only met him just over twenty-four hours ago, she had swiftly grown to care about him. The logical part of her brain was screaming at her that he would be fine, but another part she couldn't place screamed back in turn that she couldn't risk killing him._

When did he become so important to me? _Megan wondered as Bruce's form grew larger by the moment, forcing her to adjust her grip._

_“Turn southwest, ma'am,” Jarvis replied. Megan swore his normally calm voice was laced with something akin to fear, but she might have been imagining it._

_Bruce roared once more and began trying to shake himself free. Megan held on as best as she could but was fighting a losing battle. “Jarvis, send Hill our location. Tell he—” Bruce's flailing hand struck her head, knocking her out._

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Chapter Five: The Choice_

“Every man builds his world in his own image. He has the power to choose, but no power to escape the necessity of choice.”

Ayn Rand

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 @ 07:56p, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

Maria watched the rescue VTOL through remote feed as Ross' helicopter swam into view. She called Megan's number; Jarvis answered. “Hello, Agent Hill.”

“Jarvis, right? Tell Stark our VTOL is in position. Is she wearing the suit? I need to know if she can get Banner onto it safely.”

“Yes, Miss Stark is wearing the suit, but I'm afraid has already fled the car with Dr. Banner. I'm steering the car remotely.”

Maria frowned. She wasn't comfortable with the idea of AI driving a car in California traffic, but she had to prioritize. “Then what is their position? Our top priority is Banner.”

“I'm not entirely sure. I was directing her to an uninhabited island, but Dr. Banner transformed and struck her before they could get there. Her on-board GPS was knocked out in the process, but I have her location just before it blacked out.”

Maria addressed her staff, asking, “Besides GPS location, what else would we need to find a crashed aircraft?”

One of her staff spoke up. “At the very least: speed, height, direction of travel, and size. Weight doesn't matter — just the size.”

Maria relayed the request to Jarvis, and finished by saying, “Send me that, and we'll comb the ocean for them.”

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 @ 07:24p, PST | Los Angeles AFB, Los Angeles, CA**

Although Jarvis was perfectly capable of steering in the heaviest of traffic, he had not been able to outrun the pursuing helicopter and was ultimately forced to stop when Ross enlisted the help of multiple California highway patrol officers. Megan had left explicit instructions to try to make it home but otherwise not endanger anyone if he couldn't, so Jarvis had made no attempt to flee once caught. Ross and his men had been shocked to find the car driverless, but they hadn't left empty handed: Bruce's bag, which contained his laptop, had been left behind when the duo fled the car. Consolation prize in hand, the soldiers had returned to their vehicle and flown to the nearest air force base.

“So Banner was trying to cure himself...” Ross muttered to himself as he looked over the correspondences between “Mr. Green” and “Mr. Blue,” which he had transferred to his own computer.

All of the soldiers had left to refresh themselves except for Blonsky, who had remained with Ross. “Cured? That sound was Banner then?”

Ross fixed him with a look and debated how much to tell the man. Eventually, he replied, “I want to emphasize that what I'm about to share with you is tremendously sensitive, both to me personally and the military. You're aware that we've got an Infantry Weapons Development program. Well, in WWII, they initiated a subprogram for Bio-Tech Force Enhancement.”

“Yeah, a super soldier,” Blonsky acknowledged.

“Yes. An oversimplification, but yes. And I dusted it off, got 'em doing serious work again — bold work. Across the hall, they were trying to arm you better. _We_ were trying to make _you_ better. Banner's work was very early phase. It wasn't even weapons application. He thought he was working on radiation resistance; I would never have told him what the project really was. He was so sure of what he was onto that he tested it on himself. And... something went very wrong. Or it went very right.” Ross pulled up the only footage he had of Banner's other half — the day of the accident. Blonsky watched the gigantic, green monster with hungry eyes. When the video ended, Ross said, “As far as I'm concerned, that man's whole body is the property of the U.S. military.”

“You said he wasn't working on weapons, right?”

“Right.”

“But you were,” Blonsky said, his voice equal parts accusation and curiosity. “You were, weren't you? You were trying other things.”

“We were trying other things,” Ross admitted. “One serum we developed was very promising.”

“So why did he run?”

“He's a scientist,” Ross said scoffing. “He isn't one of us.” He examined the highly skilled soldier for the second time that day. “Blonsky, how old are you? Forty-five?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“It takes its toll, doesn't it?”

“Yes, it does,” Blonsky said, his distaste for his age clear in his voice.

“So get out of the trenches,” Ross replied. “You should be a Colonel by now with your record.”

Blonsky growled. “ _No_. I'm a fighter. I'll be one for as long as I can.” He paused then he suggestively said, “You know, if I could take what I know now and put it in the body I had ten years ago... That would be someone I wouldn't want to fight.”

Ross got a gleam in his eye. “I could probably arrange something like that.”

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 @ 08:04p, PST | Passenger's Cabin of a Ship in the Pacific Ocean**

“Wha— Megan? Megan?!” Bruce said as groggily came to.

“Hey, big guy. I'm right here. You're okay,” said Megan, her voice coming from immediately next to his ear.

Bruce turned his head in the voice's direction and was subjected to a close up of Megan's cheek. When he pulled his neck back enough to see more than her cheek, he found that she was resting her chin on his shoulder. Bruce blinked and looked around in confusion. Across from the duo was a small, wall-mounted mirror, and in it, Bruce could see that he was wrapped in a blanket and sitting upright in a soft bed, positioned between Megan's legs and leaning against her, enveloped in her arms. Megan's back was against the headboard of the bed, so her back clearly wasn't burdened holding him upright. She had a sizable bump on her head, and the cold pack she had presumably been given for the injury was lying on a night stand next to the bed. They were both dry and were somehow wearing fresh clothes.

Bruce blushed furiously at the close proximity, but rather than move, he decided to stay put, internally justifying his choice with a weak excuse of staying warm. “Are you okay?” he said, grimacing. “Did I hurt you? Did I hurt anyone else?”

Megan smiled softly. “All I got was a solid bump on the head. No one else was injured, but I imagine you scared the hell out of some fish.”

Bruce retrieved the cold pack, pried one of her hands free, and placed the pack in it. “You need this. I'll be fine.”

“Yessir!” Megan sardonically replied, accepting the pack with a giggle.

Once she pressed the pack against her bump, Bruce asked, “So what happened? The last thing I clearly remember is leaving the car and flying off.”

Megan's smile dimmed slightly, as she answered, “Someone on Ross' helicopter shot you. We were a hell of a distance away, so unless it was a crack sniper, it must've been pure luck that they hit you. Regardless... You started to change. I tried to get us to an uninhabited island before you could finish, but I didn't know how fast I could go without hurting you. Before we could get to land, you finished changing and clocked me on the head. I was out for awhile.”

Bruce winced. She had already told him he caused the injury, but the details made it clear that he had probably hit her at full strength. “Thank heavens you were wearing the suit,” Bruce muttered.

Megan grinned. “No kidding. I've been hit with a tank shell and walked away without bodily injury, but you? Yeesh! I'll have to upgrade my shock absorbers to 'Bruce quality,'” she said, finishing with a wink.

“I hope you'll never need it,” Bruce said with a groan. He tried to access any memories of the event and, upon sifting through what little he had, he slowly muttered, “I... I think I actually didn't mean to do it.”

“I _was_ gripping you tightly. We were moving at just under mach one.” She quirked an eyebrow. “So does that mean you remember some of it? What's it like? When it happens, what do you experience?”

Bruce floundered for an appropriate explanation for a moment before answering, “I volunteered for an experiments at Harvard once — involved induced hallucinations. It's a lot like that, just a thousand times amplified. It's like someone's poured a liter of acid into my brain.”

“But you do remember things?” she pressed.

“Just fragments. Images. There's too much noise. I can never derive anything out of it.”

“But then it's still you inside it,” Megan said, her smile returning in full force. “I thought as much.”

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked in confusion.

“When I came to,” Megan replied, picking back up with her story, “we were on the deck of this ship. The crew said that you were awake when they found us and still the other guy — or as they described you, 'a green monstrosity.' You swam on your back towards the ship, keeping me on your chest and out of the water. Once you reached the ship, you tossed me on board then changed back to normal. I woke up as they were fishing you out.”

Bruce stared at the Megan in the mirror, flabbergasted. “Thank god,” he muttered, happy she was safe and unsure of what else to say.

“No,” Megan asserted. “Thank _you_ , Bruce. I really think your mind was still in there — that it's just overcharged and can't process what's happening while you're the other guy.”

 _I guess there's really hope for control after all_ , Bruce thought to himself, daring to hope.

They sat there in silence for a bit, before Bruce finally addressed the elephant in the room. “So, uh, why... You know. We're both —”

“Oh!” Megan said, blushing as she realized what he was talking about. “You weren't sleeping well, and I thought you might've need some... Err, bodily contact.” Her blush grew darker as she defensively stuttered, “I – I mean, I was on your chest in the water, so it just makes sense. It _does_ make sense. _Really_.”

A knock at the cabin door saved Megan from further embarrassing herself. “Oh, you hear that? Cabin door. Gotta answer and all,” she quickly muttered. She raised her voice so the knocker could hear. “Yes? Come in.”

The door opened and the captain of the small boat leaned in through the frame. “Mr. Stark? Some folks from a 'shield' are hailing ships on the radio, asking if we've seen you. I told them you were aboard. They'll be here soon,” he said in a gruff voice.

Bruce growled at the honorific the man used, his eyes briefly glowing green. The man paled, remembering the monstrous man Bruce had been earlier and beat a quick retreated, slamming the door behind him.

“Bruce, honey, it's okay,” Megan said placatingly. “Beggars can't be choosers.”

“Fuck that. Did you hear what he called you?” his anger palpable.

Megan did her best to keep Bruce calm, but internally, she was cheering. _Hell yeah! He's getting angry over someone misgendering me! Win!_ “So to clarify,” Megan asked, “does this mean you're okay with the fact that I'm a transwoman?”

“Of course?” Bruce said, his voice filled with confusion again. “Did I say I wasn't?”

“No, but admittedly, I was... worried,” she replied, practically glowing with happiness. “Thank you, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded in understanding. How could he not? He understood what it was like to fear ostracization because of one's secret. Hers wasn't a secret anymore, but the press conference hadn't been that long ago, and the widespread reaction had been negative. It was probably still a sore wound. He thought back to his first conversation with her. “Do you know why that made me so angry?”

“I have a hunch,” she replied. “May I?” When Bruce nodded, she continued. “You were angry because he labeled me. I didn't get a choice in the matter.”

“Right,” Bruce affirmed. “Most people call me a monster. The military thinks I'm a weapon. Even your allies, S.H.I.E.L.D., call me a weapon. You're the first person since my accident who's ever given me a choice — who's ever _fought with someone_ over my right to choose. I won't let people take that right from you either.”

Megan's eyes began to shimmer with tears. _No, no, no!_ a corner of her mind yelled. _No falling to pieces! This is the moment! Seize it!_ She wasn't entirely sure what “the moment” was supposed to be, but she managed to prevent the tears from actually escaping her eyes.

Oblivious to Megan's internal struggle, Bruce continued. “What I'm trying to say is... I'll do my best to control the other guy. As long as you're fighting to protect people, I will too — even if it means I have to work with the military.”

“Sweet!” Megan said, enthusiasm bubbling up in her. “I don't think S.H.I.E.L.D. answers to the military anyway, so bonus! Now then: Are you going to pick a superhero name?”

“Err... Superhero name?”

“I mean, you don't have to, but I figured I would ask. I have one, after all: I'm the Iron Woman, remember?”

Bruce did remember. He remembered both the name and the fire in her eyes as her suit assembled around her. He blushed faintly in remembrance. “I don't know. I guess that's fine. You pick.”

Megan gave him a _look_ , which the mirror did nothing to minimize. “Bruce, we just got done talking about how important choice is. You _don't_ need one, if you don't _want_ one.”

“Really, it's fine,” Bruce said with a smile, his resolve returning as he thought of the fiery eyes of the Iron Woman once more. “I'm just not good at naming things. My parents got me a dog when I was a kid, and I named him 'Fido.' Picking names is seriously not my bailiwick. I really do want you to pick one for me.”

Megan smiled, “Gotcha. Well, let's think then... I didn't pick my name either, to be honest. I was christened by my friend who helped me build the suit I used to escape Afghanistan ("I'll tell you the whole story later. It's a bit long."). It needs to be fitting, and we could memorialize the location you made the decision too... How about 'the Hulk'? That's a term for a big guy and ships.”

Bruce chuckled. “I hardly think I'm a grounded ship, but I get the point.” He paused for a moment then tested out the name. “The Hulk. Bruce Banner, the Hulk; partner of Megan Stark, the Iron Woman. Yeah, that works.”

The muffled sound of what could only be the S.H.I.E.L.D. VTOL filled the room.

Megan's smile twisted into a flirty grin. “My partner, are you? My, my. I'll consent to that.”

Moments later, the door flung open, revealing a black clad agent.

“Oh, uh, Miss Stark, Dr. Banner,” the well cut agent said awkwardly upon noticing the close proximity of the duo. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but we need to get going before General Ross finds us.”

Megan and Bruce both blushed but didn't correct the agent's presumption — neither felt inclined to.

Before making they made their way to the VTOL, Megan moved to the small cabin's closet, which Bruce had missed in his earlier inspection of the room, and opened it. Her armor was inside and divided into sections. When Bruce gave her an inquisitive look, she briefly explained. “The suit has a dissemble function in case of an emergency. This didn't exactly qualify, but I, uh, wanted to hold you without it.”

Bruce nodded, accepting her explanation without a word, and helped her collect the pieces of her suit. The agent who had come to retrieve them had to help as well, since the pieces were unwieldy, but after they ultimately got it all aboard the VTOL, retrieving the pair's wet clothes along the way, and set off for Megan's house.

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 @ 08:04p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

The VTOL landed on Megan's roof after she assured them she had a roof access hatch. The agents had loaded her armor into a net they had on hand, which Bruce offered to carry. Before the duo departed, the agent who found them in the cabin pulled them aside and said, “Agent Hill wants to debrief you ASAP. Please use the same number.” Megan gave the man a salute that she hoped was appropriate then exited through the lowered entryway of the VTOL with Bruce and her armor in tow.

* * *

“Jarvis,” Megan called out once they reached the basement. “What's our status on the Audi? Did they pull you over?”

“Welcome home, Miss Stark,” Jarvis intoned. “A pleasure to see you're still in one piece. I'm afraid they forced me to stop about an hour ago. They took Dr. Banner's bag, and they've impounded the car.”

Bruce cursed. They were out of the frying pan and into the fire. “Megan, I was using an encrypted chat program to work with a contact about a cure. If they hack my laptop, and they will, then they'll track him down.”

Megan frowned in thought before asking, “Is that bad? What they would they be able to pin on him? Do we need him?”

“Yes. He's a fellow expert in gamma radiation and could be the key to controlling the other guy, so yeah, we need him. I don't know what crimes they could accuse him of, but they could definitely keep him out of our reach.”

“Gotcha. Jarvis, get Agent Hill on the line. We need a plan.”

“Right away, ma'am,” Jarvis coolly replied, his voice subsequently replaced by a dial tone.

“This is Hill,” said Maria's voice over the workshop's speakers.

“It's Megan, Hill. Thanks for the lift and attempted extraction,” Megan honestly said. Even though the VTOL hadn't made it in time to prevent Bruce from hulking out (She stifled a giggle at her newly minted term for Bruce's shapeshifting.), the intelligence organization had nevertheless made an attempt and had ultimately gotten them back home.

“Stark, I'm glad we could retrieve you and the good doctor safely,” Maria said with a relieved sigh. “My team let me know before now, but it's a relief to hear you anyway. Your AI already filled me in on your escape from the car. Care to fill in the details about how you got on that ship? Did Dr. Banner... change?”

“Yeah, Bruce got a little green around the collar,” Megan said, attempting to relieve the tension she heard in Hill's voice through humor. “We would've gotten away clean, but someone in Ross' helicopter somehow managed to shoot Bruce from a hell of a distance. I got us out of dodge ASAP, after which Bruce _accidentally_ knocked me out. He then _rescued_ me by getting us safely to a boat before he changed back,” Megan finished, stressing that Bruce had done nothing absolutely nothing wrong. She left out the details from on the boat; they were unimportant.

When Maria replied, her voice was still terse. “But he _did_ change. Off the coast of California near Malibu, no less. That's unacceptable; he's clearly not stable. We'll have to bring him in.”

Bruce and Megan both bristled with anger. “That's not your call to make,” Megan said, bluffing and hoping it was Fury's.

A tense silence followed. “No, it's not,” Maria finally admitted. “But you can be damn sure Director Fury will hear about this, Stark.”

“Of course,” Megan angrily replied. “I'm counting on it.”

“Keep Banner on your premises and don't let him out of your sight. I'll be in touch shortly,” Maria said, hanging up when she was finished.

Megan turned to face Bruce, who had sat down on the floor cross-legged, closed his eyes, and begun calming himself with a breathing exercise. “Don't worry,” she reassured. “Fury gave me the go ahead to retrieve you from Canada, so he had to be okay with the idea that an accident might occur.”

Bruce opened his still blue eyes — a good sign. “And what if this 'Fury' guy wants to bring me in?”

“Then we'll stop him,” Megan replied with finality and seriousness.

“What about my contact? Dr. Samuel Sterns — he works at a NYU.”

Megan frowned in thought. _I don't want to alienate S.H.I.E.L.D., but this does sound important._ “Hill will call back soon. Let's see what she has to say about it. If they don't want us to go... then we'll grudgingly agree and hightail it to NYC the moment they're off the phone.”

Bruce eyed her appreciatively. “Thank you, Megan. That means a lot to me.”

Megan smiled and offered him a hand up. Bruce accepted with his right hand, his bare wrist catching Megan's eye. “Did you want me to hammer out a heart rate monitor for you real quick? Or have one brought here?”

“The latter, please. I don't want to distract you from repairing your suit.”

The damage to her suit had been minimal, but Megan didn't bother to argue. She pulled out her cell and speed dialed Happy, asking him to buy the best heart rate monitor he could find and bring it by after. In the middle of the call she suddenly turned to Bruce and asked, “Do you want him to get you some clothes while he's out? I don't exactly have any clothes to offer you, and Ross has your bag.”

“Uh, yeah,” Bruce said, caught off guard. He was so used to wearing what he could get while on the run that the loss of his incredibly small wardrobe had yet to really hit him as an issue.

“Sizes?”

“Medium and thirty-two by thirty pants with a belt to hold them up.” At Megan's raised eyebrow, Bruce explained, “Room to grow.”

Megan nodded sagely, her eyes alight with mirth, and returned to her phone call. “I need you to get some men's clothes too, Happy. Men's medium, t-shirts, some thirty-two by thirty pants, and a... twenty-eight inch belt. Get the stretchiest pants and belt you can find,” she finished, eyeing Bruce's waist with a calculating eye and guessing his actual waist size.

There was a pause on the other end before Happy asked, his voice filled with incredulity and concern, “Meg, did you actually bring a guy home? He didn't force himself on you, did he? Do you need me to come kick his ass?”

Megan burst into laughter, her cheeks dusted with pink. “N-no, Happy. I'm fine. Really.” She caught Bruce's eye and winked. “I _swear_ it.”

Bruce, who couldn't hear Happy, was confused but chuckled at the in-joke anyway.

* * *

By the time the call came, Happy had yet to arrive with Megan's requested purchases, but she had at least changed into an outfit akin to her usual attire: black yoga pants; a dark red cami with a matching bra; a short-sleeved, charcoal zip-up hoodie; and her original pair of black, flip-flop sandals, which had already dried.

“Miss Stark,” Jarvis intoned. “Director Fury is on the line.”

“Good,” Megan replied, happy that Fury had decided to forgo using Hill as an intermediary. “Put him through on the speakers.” She waited a second for Jarvis to handle the request, then said, “Director Fury, sir. I'm sorry we had to take up your time.” _It can't hurt to butter him up a bit_ , she thought to herself.

“Of course, Miss Stark,” Fury replied, his voice giving nothing away. “What seems to be the problem?”

Megan quirked her eyebrow while Bruce frowned. “I was under the impression that Agent Hill would have filled you in, sir. Am I wrong?”

“She did tell me, but I want to hear it from you directly,” he smoothly answered.

“If you insist,” Megan replied, deciding to play along. She wanted his back on this, after all. “Did you want a whole brief or just the disagreement?”

“The latter.”

“Agent Hill is under the impression that it's unsafe for Bruce to be here and wants to bring him in. She's completely wrong, of course. The situation that caused Bruce to hulk out were seriously extenuating circumstances, yet I still got him to a safe location despite all of that.” Bruce choked down a chuckle at her use of the words “hulk out.”

“I'll presume you were referring to Dr. Banner transforming. Weren't you knocked out in the process and narrowly avoided drowning?” Fury asked.

“Semantics, and I think it's a bit much to say I was in danger of drowning, sir.” Megan smiled, even though Fury couldn't see her face. “ _Bruce_ kept me safe.”

“Are you insinuating that Dr. Banner has control over his other self?”

“Not a hundred percent, no, but enough that he's not a danger to me, and as long as he's with me, he's not a danger to anyone else either.”

“You say that,” Fury replied, “But I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into, Stark. We directed you to Canada to retrieve him because we had intel that he may have 'hulked out' while there. Did he tell you why he was there?” Bruce's eyes grew wide as he fervently prayed that Fury wouldn't tell her. His hopes were dashed when Fury finished, “Did he tell you that he went there to commit suicide?”

Megan grabbed a nearby table, her knees suddenly wobbly. “Of course,” her auto-pilot voice managed to say, lying for her. “Though I'm curious about how you found out.”

“We searched the area the incident was reported in after you got Banner on your plane. We found an empty gun with an expended bullet nearby. His finger prints were all over them, showing he had held it facing backwards, and trace amounts of DNA from his saliva was found on the barrel and the bullet.”

Megan collapsed into her chair, unable to support herself any more. “Oh. That makes sense.” It was a miracle her voice was still calm.

“Now that you know that,” Fury said, not fooled by her act, “are you still confident that I don't need to have my agents bring him in?”

“Don't make me repeat myself, sir. Hill thinks he needs to be brought in, but she's completely wrong.”

After a moment, hereplied, “Very well. Don't leave your house without a backup plan in case Dr. Banner hulks out. You got lucky this time, Stark. You can't rely on luck. Understood?”

“Crystal,” Megan retorted before she hung up.

The pair of heroes sat there in silence for what felt to Bruce like an eternity, the air seemingly frozen, in spite of the heating system. Bruce waited with bated breath, unable to summon the courage to say anything before she did.

Megan broke the silence. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Why didn't you tell me?” Bruce had no answer, so he said nothing. Eventually, Megan spoke again, her voice beginning to crack. “I know we just met, but... but I _care_ about you, Bruce, and I thought you cared about me too. _Why_ didn't you tell me?” She sobbed as tears began to fall freely from her eyes. _How did this possibility not occur to me? I knew he was on the run for the past five years, that he'd been unable to cure or control his other half. I should have seen this possibility_! It hit her like a ton of bricks: She had been trying so hard to see the good in Bruce. She insisted that he could be more than a weapon, that he would choose correctly given the chance, that he wouldn't try to flee, that he could control the other guy. _Is that why I feel so betrayed?_ she wondered. _Or is it because I saw so much of myself in him?_

That was the main reason, she realized. They both were both subjected to tortures they wished they could avoid: Bruce had his transformations, and Megan had a shrapnel laced chest and her gender identity conflicted with her birth sex. They both did everything in their power to escape those tortures: Megan built the arc reactor and hid the truth of her birth sex, and Bruce attempted to cure himself. They both were labeled in ways they hated: Bruce was called a monster — less than human — and Megan was misgendered. They both had the people they loved taken from them against their will: Megan's parents and Bruce's ex, Betty Ross. They were both science junkies. They were both new to the idea of being superheroes. They were both _damaged_.

Bruce knelt beside her and wrapped his arms around her, interrupting Megan's thoughts. “I'm sorry,” he said.

 _Can I accept that?_ her rational half asked. _Is a simple “I'm sorry” enough? What could make this better? What do I want?_

Her emotional half answered. _I want to stop crying._

 _Okay_ , rational-Megan said. _Would accepting Bruce's apology help me stop crying?_

 _Oh my god_ yes _— yes it would_ , emotional-Megan replied.

_Square deal. Anything else on the “I want” list for this convo?_

_I don't want to worry about whether he's hiding anything else._

_Kind of hard to verify that without a bitchin' lie detector, emotional-me, but we can make our opinion known_ , rational-Megan said. _Last call for imminent wants?_

 _I want to be on the receiving end of more hugs. I miss Daddy's_ , emotional-Megan responded, invisibly pouting.

_Err, let's shelve that one for later. Gotta... uh, leave room for growth. Now then — let's get ourselves not lost in thought._

“Apology accepted on one condition.”

Bruce blinked. Unless the condition involved something impossible for him to do, this was easily the smoothest end to an argument ever. It was doubly impressive when he accounted for the severity of his omission and the generally uncertain nature of his relationship with Megan. “W-what would that be?”

Megan twisted around in his arms so she was facing him, his hands sliding up to rest on her shoulders. “I want you to tell me the truth, and I don't want you to fucking _omit_ something important like 'By the way, did you know a bullet tastes like metal when you shove a gun barrel in your mouth and shoot?' okay?”

“O-okay,” Bruce said gulping. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, coaxing his heart rate downwards. Megan waited without comment, since she understood what he was doing. Eventually, he opened his eyes and asked, “What do you want to know.”

“Why did you do it?”

Bruce didn't need to ask what “it” was. “I got low. I didn't see an end, so... I decided to put a bullet in my mouth.”

“What happened?” The evidence Fury's agents had collected gave Megan the impression that Bruce couldn't be killed. She wanted to know for sure.

“The other guy, err, spat it out.”

“That's... that's incredible,” Megan muttered. “If you don't know the answer to this one, then just say so: if I flew my suit at max speed — that's over mach two, by the way — and I was carrying you, would you still be okay?”

Bruce thought about that one for a moment. “Based on what happened to me in Canada, I _suppose_ I would be fine, but I really wouldn't know unless we tried. I suspect that I'd hulk out though.”

 _Mental to-do list: test that shit. That's totally bad ass_. “What caused your accident? What were you doing?”

“You know who Captain America is, right?” Bruce asked in return.

“Of course,” Megan answered, confused by the non sequitur. “My father worked with him when during the war. He told me all the stories.”

Bruce had expected as much. “I was working on developing a serum that gave humans resistance to radioactive materials like gamma rays. At least, I thought that was all. General Ross was in charge of my research team and several others, so there was probably a deeper purpose I wasn't told about.”

Megan took a deep breath and steeled herself for whatever his response might be to her next question. “Do you _like me_ like me?”

Bruce blushed and opened his mouth to say something, but when nothing came out, he snapped it shut. After he tried and failed a second time, Megan's eyes grew morose and she began to pull away from his touch. Before she could Bruce tightened his left hand's grip and brought his right hand up to cup her cheek. “Bruce?” Megan inquired.

Bruce looked into her eyes, remembering how they had entranced him when her passion danced in them like fire. _Do you even need to think about this, Banner?_ “Yes. I'm not sure it's love or anything, but I do 'like you like you.'”

Megan fidgeted before deciding to go for broke. “Kiss me, please?” she asked her face crimson but hopeful.

 _Hell yes!_ he internally cheered. _Clearest 'approval to be approached' a beautiful woman has_ ever _given me._

He kissed her. It was chaste and not terribly long, but it was clearly heartfelt.

 _Perfect!_ emotional-Megan declared triumphantly.

 _What evidence are you basing that conclusion on?_ rational-Megan said, silently snorting. _We've literally never kissed anyone before._

 _So you're saying we need repeated trials?_ emotional-Megan slyly inquired.

_You know what, emotional-me? I like the way you think after all. Begin the testing!_

After the kiss had ended, Bruce had sat there, unsure of how to proceed on account of his own inexperience with relationships. Megan coiled her arms around his neck and pulled him in for more.

“M-Megan? I—” Bruce gasped breathlessly as they separated from a second, much longer, less chaste, but still heartfelt kiss.

“Shut up, Bruce,” Megan interrupted with a happy grin before pulling him back in for thirds.

Happy, who had reached the bottom of the stairs during the second kiss, set down the shopping bags he'd been carrying and quickly ascended the stairs, leaving the two alone. Megan's father had hired him as her bodyguard back when she was sixteen, and Happy had known her ever since then. He had never seen her look at _anybody_ like that; he wasn't about to interrupt the moment. She was a big girl — she'd call if there was trouble.

* * *

**Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 @ 08:00a, EST | Langley AFB, Hampton, VA**

Ross walked into the operating room where Blonsky was being prepped for the super soldier injection. All of the necessary equipment had been stored at Langley, so he and his team and flown back during the night. This was doubtlessly the biggest risk he had ever taken, but he knew that if he wanted to catch Banner, he'd have to bet all his chips. He walked over to Blonsky and looked him in the eyes. “We're giving you a very low dose only. I need you sharp out there and disciplined. First sign of any side effect, we stop, and you're off team until you straighten out. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Blonsky answered without hesitation.

Ross turned to the doctor and nodded. At his prompting, she told Blonsky, “You'll get two separate infusions. One into the deep muscle; one into the bone marrow centers. The bone ones are going to _hurt_.”

Blonsky stared at her coldly. “I don't care. Do it.”

The doctor performed the injections, during which Blonsky could not help but scream in agony. When it was done, Ross asked him, “How do you feel?”

Blonsky tested his arm, flexing it and admiring the incredible strength that pulsed through it. He could feel the small spikes that had begun to protrude from his back, but he kept silent about them. He needed to be on the team if he was going to get close to Banner again. “Ready for round two.”

“Then get to the loading bay. We're bringing in 'Mr. Blue.'”

* * *

**Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 @ 08:30a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

“Good morning, Dr. Banner. The time is 08:30a — your requested wake up time,” Jarvis' voice intoned as the room's overhead lights came to life.

“Jarvis, you've got the wrong fucking room,” Megan groggily replied, swatting at the air as if the simple gesture would will him away.

“Actually, ma'am, it is Dr. Banner who has the wrong room.”

Bruce, who had begun to pull himself out of bed and to his feet proceeded to fall over, crumbling into a heap. Megan's eyes shot open in alarm before she clenched them shut with a wince, having subjected them to light too quickly. Once Bruce extracted himself from the floor and Megan's eyesight recovered, they turned to face each other and silently stared.

 _Yep, he's really in my room. Totally slept in my bed. With me._ Megan checked under the sheet to see what she was wearing and found nothing but her birthday suit. She looked back up at Bruce — whose own nakedness her eyes now registered — made a small “eep” sound, clutched the sheet over herself as a cover with her left hand, and jabbed her right index finger towards the door. “ _Out_.”

Bruce didn't need to be told twice; he fled the room. Once he'd beat a retreat to _his_ room, he idly wondered what his heart rate was and reflexively checked his wrist before he remembered that he had lost it when he hulked out over the Pacific. He was surprised to find a new heart rate monitor strapped to it, which clearly displayed “155.” _Thank heavens for minor miracles_ , he thought to himself, sighing with relief.

* * *

Bruce sat there in his room for an hour before he dared to leave. He would have left sooner, but lost his nerve when he heard Megan start the shower fifteen minutes in. He trudged towards the shower with a set of clothes in hand and hopped into the shower, letting the warm water ease his tension. The clothes had been in a small mound of shopping bags that he vaguely remembered depositing in his room at some point the night before. He tried to prep himself for contact with Megan, but after ten minutes of floundering in his own thoughts, unable to produce an explanation that sounded even half legitimate, he resigned himself to whatever judgment she deemed fitting. _Hell, that might be what happens regardless_ , he thought to himself.

He made his way down to the workshop with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man approaching the gallows, wearing a loose-fitting, surprisingly stretchy pair of blue jeans, a dark gray t-shirt, and a pair of plain boots. He found Megan already in the workshop, fully dressed with her pixie-cut hair still half wet, working on what appeared to be a hologram blueprint of her suit while she sat in one of her wheeled chairs. She was almost completely facing away from him, so he couldn't see her face well enough to judge how she was feeling.

“Were you drunk?” Megan called out to him as he entered, not turning away from her work.

“No,” Bruce answered. “I haven't been able to get drunk since the accident.” He began to panic, fearing that _she_ might have been drunk without him realizing it. “Were you?”

Megan abandoned her work twisting around to face him, the chair turning with her. When she saw the look of pure panic on his face, Megan shook her head. “No. At least, not with alcohol. Just you.”

Bruce released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “Oh thank god. If I had... I thought I might've _taken advantage_ of you by accident!”

Megan stood from her chair smiling, moved to his side, and pulled him into a gentle half hug. “That's sweet of you, Bruce. I just wanted to make sure everything that happened was... consensual. I didn't remember bringing out the spirits, but that didn't mean you hadn't sneaked any when I wasn't looking. Are _you_ okay? Heart rate not too high?”

Bruce nodded. “It was 155 when I got to my room.” _I really don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but even if she's okay with what happened last night..._ “Megan, I'm sorry, but we can't do that again.”

“Why not?” Megan said with glazed eyes, frowning. She suspected she knew what the problem was, but she wanted to hear him say it, just in case he was having second thoughts about her.

“I was too distracted to look at my monitor last night, but I can't imagine it was in a safe zone. I can't let myself get too excited, or else...” Bruce left his sentence hanging, knowing Megan understood the implication.

“Okay. That's fine,” Megan replied. “To be completely honest, although I did love last night, I'm still uncomfortable with my... equipment.”

Bruce tensed up. “It's not because of me, is it? I swear I'm fi—”

Megan cut him off by pressing her index finger against his lips. “You _swear_?” she coyly said with a wink, hoping to calm him down. It did — Bruce visibly relaxed at their in-joke. “It's not you, Bruce,” Megan explained with a sigh. “I've always been uneasy about it. A lot of transwomen are. I just haven't done anything about it because I promised my father I'd wait until I was twenty-five — that's a year and a half from now.”

“Oh,” Bruce said. “Well in that case, I guess I have time to work on controlling when the change occurs.”

“Speaking of which,” Megan said as she pulled away from him enough to retrieve her phone from her hoodie's pocket, “we need to arrange for Dr. Sterns' travel.”

“Wouldn't it be quicker to just go to NYC?” Bruce replied confused.

Megan quirked an eyebrow. “While that _would_ be quicker, but it's New Years Eve, Bruce. Ross has your computer, so he'll know about Sterns and head us off. If he caused you to hulk out, there would be a huge risk of you showing up on live TV that most of the U.S. will be tuned into, and wouldn't _that_ be a fun way to ring in the new year? Besides, we'd be stuck if he's taken Sterns into custody, since we don't have the authority to get him back; we're only _candidates_ for a _secret_ initiative. So it's better to se—”

The phone in her hand rang. “Convenient timing,” she said before accepting the call. “Philly, how are you? I was just about to...” She paused as a voice that Bruce presumed was “Philly” interrupted her. Megan paled. “ _Shit_.”

* * *

**Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 @ 12:18p, EST | Samuel Sterns' Office, New York University, New York City**

Ross and his team had pulled out all the stops to get to NYU after Blonsky's injection was over. They didn't know when Bruce and Megan would try to get Dr. Sterns, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had been putting pressure on Ross to end his operation, so they had to move quickly before he was out of their reach. The university was generally empty, on account of the winter break, but their sniper had confirmed that Sterns was in his combination office/laboratory by checking through the windows. He was there and alone. Blonsky and two other men secured the corridor outside his office door, then moved into position: Blonsky centered on it and ready to break it down, and the other two men flanking either side of the door frame.

“On my mark,” Blonsky muttered, gripping his rifle tightly. His teammates nodded silently. “Three... two... one...” His foot bashed the door in with incredible ease, sending it crashing into some nearby equipment. He charged in knowing the other men would follow him, and as the first one came through the frame, the other following him, Blonsky whipped his rifle around and unloaded it in the face of the one in the front, killing them both as the bullets passed through his skull into the one in the back. The sniper, who had had his sights leveled on Sterns, missed Blonksy's actions. He only saw Sterns leap to his feet and stare at the door before he bolted deeper into the lab.

“What happened?” Ross' voice roared through the team's radio. “Blonsky! Meyers! Brown!”

“I don't know where the shots came from, sir,” Blonsky lied as he fired wildly into the hall before chasing after Sterns. “Meyers and Brown are down. I think they're dead, sir. I'm going after Sterns. The lab equipment will give me cover.”

“I've got no visual,” the sniper reported through the link. “Either the shooter isn't giving chase, or they know we've got the windows tagged.”

“Copy that,” Blonsky muttered as he found Sterns cowering in the back of the lab. He aimed his rifle at the man's head.

“Wait! What could I have possibly done deserve this?” Sterns wailed as he vainly shielded his head with his hands.

Blonsky ripped his earpiece out of his ear, threw it to the ground, and crushed it. “It's not what you've done. It's what you're gonna do. I know Banner sent you blood samples. I want that. I want that _power_.”

Realization dawned on Sterns, and he carefully observed Blonsky. “You look like you've got a little something in you already, don't you?”

“I want more,” Blonsky replied without hesitation. He wasn't sure how Sterns knew about what he had already done, but he had no reason to hide it. He was desperate. The serum he'd been given had made his body better than he had ever felt, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. He had seen the transformed Banner; he wasn't as powerful as that creature. Blonsky was a fighter, pure and simple. He couldn't accept not rising to the challenge that creature represented to him. “Have you seen what he becomes?”

Sterns shook his head, but his eyes never left Blonsky. “No, but he's described it. It must be beautiful — _godlike_.”

Blonsky sneered at him. “Well, I want that. I _need_ that. _Make me that_.”

“I don't know what you've got inside you already,” Sterns said as he slowly rose from the floor, wary of the rifle that was trained on him. “The mix could be... an abomination.” Blonsky snarled, his eyes growing dark, and leveled the barrel of his gun at Sterns' head. Sterns hastily blurted out, “I didn't say I was unwilling! I just need informed consent.” He gulped nervously and eyed the gun. “And you've given it.”

* * *

“Blonsky, what's going on in there?” Ross inquired after a minute of radio silence. “Blonsky? Answer me, damn it!”

“Sir, this is Johnson. Rogers and I have finished searching the other rooms in the corridor. They're clear of hostiles.”

“Then get in Sterns' lab and give Blonsky backup. Report back to me ASAP.”

* * *

Bruce had been wary of sending Sterns too many blood samples, citing his worry that some of it might accidentally fall into the wrong hands — namely the military's. It had never been enough for the experiments Sterns wanted to perform on it, so he had improvised: He had concentrated it and made more. To Sterns, Bruce's concerns were outweighed by the potential the gamma irradiated blood held. With a little trial and error, there might be no limit to what the gamma technology could do. We could potentially unlock hundreds of cures — make humans impervious to disease. He could have gotten a Nobel prize! And so, he was happy to put Blonsky on his operating table and strap down his limbs. He was excited when he injected Blonsky with the replicated blood. He was practically giddy when he released he released a charge of gamma rays into the soldier's body. He was, however, surprised when Blonsky began to grow into morph into something altogether different than Bruce's description of his other half.

“This is what I was trying to explain,” Sterns muttered as he watched the transformation in morbid fascination. “I don't know what you've been ladling into yourself. But it clearly worked!” Blonsky, the Abomination, released a guttural growl and easily ripped himself free from his restrains, his scaly gray body bursting with muscles and the short spikes lining his spine flexing. “Uh, let's assume you don't understand a word I'm saying,” Sterns nervously said as the Abomination turned to face him, his grin maniacal and his eyes a brilliant neon green. “If you'll just get back on the table, I can _fix_ this.”

“What the hell is that thing?” Johnson cried as he and Rogers stumbled upon them.

The Abomination brutally swatted Sterns, sending him flying into a nearby cabinet and shattering the containers of blood atop it, then charged at the soldiers. They opened fire on him, but he shrugged the bullets off like they were nothing, grabbed them both by the head, and crushed their skulls. He laughed, his voice deep and distorted from its original timbre, then jumped through the wall, landing in the street below.

In the office, Sterns still lived but the blow he had been dealt left him unable to move. He tasted blood in his mouth and began to feel strange. Glancing up as best as he could from his position on the floor, he saw that replicated blood was dripping into his open mouth. And though he couldn't see it, but his head had begun to mutate.

* * *

**Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 @ 09:42a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

“Bruce, please try to not panic, but we have to get to NYC. _Now_ ,” Megan said as she hastily tapped the circular groove in the floor.

 _“Try to not panic,” she says_ , Bruce wearily thought. _Because that always prevents people from panicking._ “What's going on? Did Fury decide to renege on the deal?”

“Jarvis, get the live feed from Times Square on one of the screens,” she replied as her suit was assembled around her by mechanical arms. “Sterns mutated someone, Bruce — maybe himself. Ross attempted to capture him, but when they got there, they were attacked. Attacked by...” She trailed off as Bruce's eyes locked onto the monitor with the live feed. Even at this hour of the day, the square was normally packed with excited people ready to celebrate the new year, but now, it was chaos. The feed, which was normally ground level, was being captured by a camera in a helicopter flying overhead. The few people left standing were fleeing as fast as they could as a scaly gray giant destroyed everything in sight, a trail of fire and destruction in his wake.

“We're reporting to you live from the air above Times Square where a monster has begun to attack civilians and destroy local structures,” an off-screen reporter announced. “Police have so far been unable to stop this abomination and are urging everyone to vacate a fifteen-block perimeter around the square. The national guard is —”

“BANNER!” the Abomination screeched, his piercing voice drowning out the reporter. “Fight me!”

The screen clicked off as Megan's suit came to life. She quickly closed the distance between herself and Bruce. Her faceplate flipped up, revealing fiery eyes. “He's killing people, Bruce. We _have_ to stop him. Are you with me?”

Bruce pulled his heart monitor off, set it on the closest table, and turned to face Megan, his eyes briefly flashing neon green. “Let's go.”

* * *

**Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 @ 02:06p, EST | Times Square, NYC**

When the duo reached New York City, Megan sighed in relief. She had been planning to test Bruce's apparent invincibility at some point, but she had intended to do it in a safe, controlled environment — not by dragging him along as she pushed the limits of her suit's speed. It was a miracle that Bruce had somehow not hulked out mid-flight. She wasn't sure Bruce could maintain enough control to allow her to fly him as the Hulk, but regardless, his large form absolutely would have made the flight longer. When they reached the square and Megan began to descend, Bruce tightly grabbed her arm.

“What is it?” Megan said, coming to a halt.

“Drop me,” Bruce unflinchingly replied.

Megan's faceplate snapped up, and she gave him an incredulous look. “Bruce, are you crazy?”

“Trust me,” he said before pulling himself up enough to peck her on the lips.

Megan bit her lip but nevertheless said, “Okay. In three...”

“Two...” Her faceplate snapped back down.

“One...” Her suit's red eye slits watched Bruce's eyes turn completely neon green.

She dropped him.

* * *

Phil Coulson was in a S.H.I.E.L.D. VTOL, coordinating what had become a joint military effort to stop the Abomination and get civilians to safety, when it happened: A human dropped out of the sky and impacted the ground across the square from the Abomination, who ceased destroying a tank and gazed intently at the dust cloud the impact had caused. An inhuman roar reverberated through the square; the Abomination's angry appearance twisted into something resembling a smile.

“Phil,” Megan said as Jarvis hacked her into his communication line. “We're here. Pull back.”

The dust began to clear, revealing a monstrous green man standing in an impact crater far too small for his large frame. He was clad in torn blue jeans, which gratefully hid the area between his waist and his calves, and his head was covered in a messy tangle of black hair. The expression on his face could only be described as anger — pure, unfiltered _anger_.

Phil stared, paling. “Iron, is that —”

“The Hulk?” Megan said, interrupting him. “Why, yes it is.” Phil couldn't tell by the sound of her voice, but Megan was just as shocked to see the real deal herself. This was her first time seeing Bruce's other half, as she had been moving at nearly the speed of sound the last time he had transformed, was knocked out before the change completed, and had been too preoccupied at the time regardless. She slammed into the ground beside him and turned her head to look into his eyes. The Hulk did the same. Megan saw recognition in his eyes. “Let's do this, Bruce.”

Phil's training kicked into gear. He immediately collected himself and began to order the troops. “All units are ordered to not engage the target. Fall back, regroup, and be ready in case things go bad.”

“Who the hell are they?” someone shouted into the voice link.

“The cavalry,” Phil answered.

“Banner...” the Abomination growled before bursting into a sprint towards the Hulk, who mirrored his actions. Megan's repulsors pushed her into the air, and she swung wide around the Abomination, aiming to flank him. The two masses of muscle clashed hard enough that a minor shock-wave resulted, pushing Megan off course.

“Better give the two titans some room,” Megan muttered as she corrected her trajectory. “I can still hit him from a range.”

The Abomination twisted to his right while dropping to a knee and flung the Hulk over and past him. Megan took the opportunity to unload a payload of miniature missiles from her arm storage. The gray monstrosity emerged from the resulting smoke unscathed, but the smoke gave the Hulk enough cover to charge in for another attack. The Abomination heard him coming but swung sideways, unable to see that the Hulk had ducked down, and was hit with a gruesome uppercut that knocked him backwards. Before he could recover, Megan sent a repulsor blast at his eyes, temporarily blinding the creature.

While Bruce took advantage of the enemy's weakness by repeatedly smashing the Abomination's face, Megan sought help, “We need to end this quick, Jarvis. See any weak spots?”

“The eyes appear to be the softest part of the body, ma'am,” Jarvis answered after a moment.

“That's not going to bring him down,” she replied as she dodged a piece of rubble the Abomination hurled at her, aiming with his ears. “What else ya got?”

“The target appears to be breathing. Might I recommend choking him?”

“Wow, Jarvis. I don't remember including sadism in your personality, but yeah, that could work.” _Requiem for an Obadiah, anyone?_ she internally joked. The Abomination had finally managed to end the Hulk's attack by sweeping the green giant's legs from under him and shoving him to the side as he fell. It proceeded to grab him by the ankles and throw him at Megan's flying form, but she dodged in time. With nothing between them, the Abomination rushed towards her, forcing her to blast up into the sky. _He can't get me up here_ , she thought. _Once Bru—_

The armor around her left calf caved in as the Abomination jumped, grabbed her leg, and proceeded to crush it. She let out a blood curdling scream of agony as she felt the metal slice into her leg. She tried to blast his hand away, but she missed, her senses were overloaded with pain and tears poured from her eyes. The pair fell to the earth with a crash, and the Abomination began to swing her down in an arc, hoping to smash her into the ground. Before the gray beast could finish the swing, the Hulk caught her with one hand and brutally crushed the Abomination's wrist, forcing him to release Megan, screaming in pain. The Hulk leaped backwards, putting distance between the two titans, and roared angrily at his gray counterpart, his face somehow managing to appear angrier than he had been at the start of the fight.

“Ma'am, the blood flow to your leg has been cut off. You need medical attention,” Jarvis said, his voice uncharacteristically laced with worry. Megan whimpered, unable to feel half of her leg, but tersely replied, “No! We _have to stop_ that Abomination, Jarvis! I'll go to the fucking hospital later!”

The Hulk growled as he heard Megan's words, which were still being projected through her suit's external speakers. The Hulk was angry. He couldn't process why Megan was important, but he knew it was true. The Abomination had hurt her. He would die for it. The Abomination's gray face twisted into a darkly demented smirk. This was what he wanted — to fight Banner at full strength.

Megan's repulsors flared to life, and she haphazardly flew away, the loss of her left foot's repulsor and her lack of concentration making it impossible to fly straight. “Hulk! Choke him!” she screamed through her external speaker, hoping her words were simple enough, and her sentences short enough, that he would understand.

He did. The Hulk charged the Abomination with a surprising burst of speed and began to choke him with one hand while attempting to ward off attacks with the other. He had the upper hand for the moment, but Megan knew that one lucky hit would change that. “A chain,” she said, a plan brewing in her head. “We need a — _fuck_!” She gasped as pain surged through her leg. She had unconsciously tried to bend her left leg, and her knee had unfortunately responded.

“Megan! Leave this to the Hulk and get out of there!” Phil shouted through the voice link, referring to Bruce with the name Megan had dubbed him.

“ _Fuck you_ , Phillip Coulson! I'm finishing this! Now help me _find a chain_!”

“The corner of Lexington and 58th!” a gruff, intense voice Megan didn't recognize said through the link. “There's a construction site there were a crane!”

“Point me, Jarvis,” Megan said, unfamiliar with the city's layout.

“North-east by east, ma'am. 40.761959, -73.968228. Follow the HUD.”

Megan followed her HUD as quickly as she could in her hampered state, blearily following the directions as her tear-filled eyes processed them. The location wasn't far, so she reached it less than half a minute later, finding an under-construction skyscraper with several cranes on the plot. Mercifully, it was abandoned, no doubt due to the evacuation orders the news caster mentioned. One of them was holding no cargo, so she severed its chain, bundled it up enough that it wouldn't drag on the ground, and made her way back to the square. The Hulk and Abomination were still duking it out by the time she returned, but the Hulk was clearly in the superior position, his strength bolstered by his anger of Megan's injury. She knew she had to wait for the right moment to pass the chain lest the Abomination grab it instead, but the pain in her leg had become too intense. She could barely see straight; she wasn't sure she could do it on her own, much less continue to pilot the suit for much longer.

“Phil! I can't see straight. Tell me when to drop the chain!”

_“Trust me,” Bruce said before pulling himself up enough to peck her on the lips._

“Now!” Phil shouted after a couple of seconds.

Megan dropped it, her world fading to black as she finally succumbed to the pain.

* * *

**Thursday, January 1st, 2004 @ 04:42p, EST | NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, NYC**

“No! Bruce!” Megan screamed as she woke up, delirious from a dream she couldn't quite remember. She tried to open her eyes, but immediately clenched them shut again, blinded by the light.

“I'm here, Megan.” Bruce's voice said, coming from her left side. She felt his arms wrap around her and squeeze her in a tight hug. She heard several pairs of feet rush into the room, but she couldn't see who with her eyes still shut.

“Bruce?” she weakly repeated, rubbing at her eyes with her right hand, her arm numbly responding. “Why do I feel so numb? Where are we?”

“We're at the hospital. It's over. The Hulk...” Bruce paused for a moment. She felt his shoulders twist slightly, as if looking around the room. “I killed that _Abomination_ ,” he finished with a snarl. _He_ was _looking around the room then_ , she concluded. _He didn't want to give away his identity. So all of those feet belong to people in the know?_

She warily opened her eyes, having wiped away the encrusted grit and grim. The light was still bright, but she could bear it until they adjusted. She turned her head to see who was in the room with them, and while her neck responded, it was slow, and she could barely feel it. Phil Coulson, Director Fury, and Natasha Romanoff were assembled around her bed in a half circle, arcing out from left, where Bruce was hugging her. Phil had a sombre look on his face and stood stiffly, while Natasha looked indifferent, and Fury was a mix thereof. On her right side, a woman in a navy blue uniform was attending to some medical instruments. A gray circle around a black eagle was emblazoned on her shoulder. Megan presumed she was someone from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s med division, but she wasn't sure. She had yet to see their logo, since Phil, Romanoff, and Fury had never worn any sort of official uniform. An older man she didn't recognize sat in a chair in the corner of the room, hunched over and sulking, his blonde hair and thick mustache disheveled. A young and built blonde man dressed in all black was guarding the door, a gun holster visible at his waist. Megan herself was in a hospital bed, the portion under her back inclined enough that she was half-sitting and half-lying down. Her clothes had been replaced with the standard hospital wear, and she had several blankets draped over her to keep her warm.

Megan was surprised. _This is a lot of people._ But for the guy at the door, they were all staring at her. Feeling uncomfortable, she tried to push herself up a bit in the bed, but found her arm was simply too numb. “Why do I feel numb?” she asked again.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Bruce's eyes fall, a sad look covering his face. “Megan, they had to, so they could... I- I swear it was necessary.”

“You swear?” she asked, her mouth only able to form half a grin due to the lack of sensation. Bruce said nothing. “Bruce?” she worriedly asked, her eyes widening. Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. “Bruce?” Her voice fell to a whisper.

“He cut off part of your leg, Megan,” Phil answered, seeing Bruce's voice was failing him. “Normally they can reattach it, but... you waited too long.”

She didn't believe him. She tore at the covers, her arms weakly responding to her demands as she internally dared reality to prove Phil wrong. When she finally uncovered herself, she saw her left leg was swathed in bandages and ended in a stump just below her knee.

“Oh god,” she murmured, her voice suddenly hoarse. She had said those words before back in Afghanistan when she found her chest connected to a car battery — a battery keeping shrapnel out of her heart. Somehow, this was worse.

Her left hand shakily approached it before Bruce gently grabbed her forearm. “Megan, you can't,” he managed to say, his voice recovered. “The bandages —”

“ _Fuck the bandages_!” she screamed at him.

Bruce removed his hand like he had been burned. He stared at her, unsure of how to respond. His eyes had flared neon green for a moment before slowly fading back to their normal blue. Her own eyes grew desperate. “Bruce, I- I'm sorry. I... I _need_ this. I... need to know if this is _real_.”

Bruce's hand dropped into his lap. “I understand.”

Her left had begun moving towards the bandages again, shaking uncontrollably. She couldn't grab it gently; the movement of her hand was too much. Finally, she settled for just grabbing it roughly. Pain seared through her. She released a short yelp of agony but refused to let go. She had to feel the damage. She had to _know_. Slowly, her fingers softly probed at the bandages, inspecting what her eyes could not, while she whimpered — whether from the pain or the implication of what she felt, she wasn't sure.

Megan removed her hand, letting it fall limply to the side of the stump she knew had been her left leg. “Please leave,” she muttered, her voice soft. One by one, the people assembled left the room, murmuring apologies and well wishes as they left. Megan didn't have the heart to thank them. Eventually, only Bruce and the lady who had been checking the bedside instruments remained.

“I'll be back to change your bandages later,” the lady said before she got up exited the room.

Bruce began to stand from the chair he had been sitting in, but Megan stopped him with a whispered, “Please stay, Bruce.” They sat there in silence. She wasn't sure how long it took her to finally break down, but at some point, she abruptly sobbed and began to cry. Bruce hugged her gently, and she clutched at him like a lifeline. Even when the staff came in to change her bandages, she didn't stop crying. Even when her eyes ran out of tears to release, sobs racked her body. Bruce never left her side and never stopped holding her.

Hours later, Megan finally stopped, her sapped body unable to remain conscious. As Bruce held her soft, sleeping body, his mind replayed the memory of the Abomination's death. His eyes slowly changed to neon green as the anger inside him reached the boiling point. He knew he couldn't suppress the rage this time. He braced himself, expecting to hulk out, but the change never came. The hatred festered in his heart, unrelenting and unforgiving.

Realization dawned on him: He didn't fear the transformation anymore. He didn't enjoy the thought of the ramifications of hulking out in a hospital, especially while he was holding Megan, but he didn't fear the _form itself_ anymore. The Hulk had given him the gift of revenge. He respected it now. He was willing to summon its power. He wasn't sure if the anger in his heart would ever relent, but he knew he and the Hulk saw eye to eye now. He would never loose these green eyes. They were a promise to anyone who dared to cross him or his lover: _He_ was the Hulk.

Bruce’s neon green eyes sadly looked over Megan's tear-stained face. “I will protect you, Megan. I _swear_ it.”

As if she had heard him, the still unconscious Megan murmured, “I love you too, Bruce.”


	7. Chapter Six: Pain and Legacies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_Realization dawned on him: He didn't fear the transformation anymore. He didn't enjoy the thought of the ramifications of hulking out in a hospital, especially while he was holding Megan, but he didn't fear the_ form itself _anymore. The Hulk had given him the gift of revenge. He respected it now. He was willing to summon its power. He wasn't sure if the anger in his heart would ever relent, but he knew he and the Hulk saw eye to eye now. He would never loose these green eyes. They were a promise to anyone who dared to cross him or his lover:_ He _was the Hulk._

_Bruce’s neon green eyes sadly looked over Megan's tear-stained face. “I will protect you, Megan._ I swear it. _”_

_As if she had heard him, the still unconscious Megan murmured, “I love you too, Bruce.”_

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Chapter Six: Pain and Legacies_

“I assess the power of a will by how much resistance, pain, torture it endures and knows how to turn to its advantage.”

Nietzsche

* * *

**Thursday, January 1st, 2004 @ 09:03p, EST | NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, NYC**

Megan awoke with a start, the nightmare that thrust her from sleep already beginning to fade from her memory. She blearily glanced around the barely lit, vaguely familiar room, trying to place where she was. The numbness in her left leg quickly reminded her.

_Hospital, right. They... they a-... amputated my leg._

Immediately, her brain began to flood with dozens of ideas for leg prosthetics, armor improvements, new weapon systems, and battle tactics. Ordinarily, Megan would have reveled in the torrent of ideas, but this was different. She didn’t want to think about what she could do to prevent future injuries. What a part of her wanted, more than anything at that moment, was to undo what had happened. To take back what the Abomination had done to her. For once in her life, she couldn’t completely focus on the future — couldn’t escape the past.

 _No. No no no!_ rational-Megan cried, forcibly tearing Megan from such thoughts. _What good will that do us? Be logical about this!_

 _Logical?!_ emotional-Megan answered in a shrill voice, despite being a mental construct. _Logic was thrown out the window when they threw our leg in the trash!_

 _Sarcasm oozed from rational-Megan’s voice as she tersely replied, Oh, yes. Very good. Let’s ponder weak and weary upon this midnight dreary, and whine about how we’ll have our leg nevermore. Perhaps we should get a pet Raven?_ Stop and think. _What good will that do us? Even if we want to work on somehow restoring our leg, being weepy and unable to face reality will make that an impossibility. Now: Are you ready to stop Weepfest 2004 and get focused on moving past this?_

Emotional-Megan fumed for a moment before begrudgingly answering, _Leg prosthetic. I refuse to focus on anything else until we have a leg that’s as close to real as possible._

_Done deal. Let’s get a laptop and stop sitting around. Err, figuratively. We probably shouldn't try to walk at the moment._

A clear course of action now set in her mind, Megan looked around the room to see if there was a laptop she could steal ( _Borrow temporarily_ , Megan thought with a hint of a wry grin.). None was in sight, and she was confident that if she attempted to leave the hospital bed that a swarm of nurses would rush in to bodily restrain her. The solution to her dilemma, however, was sitting in a chair next to her bed.

“Bruce?” Megan weakly said, trying to get his attention. He had dozed off at some point, his head lolled to the side and snoring softly. Her words didn’t cause so much as a stir. She reached towards him, hoping to lightly shake him awake, but found that he was just barely out of her reach.

 _But of course_ , Megan thought, her eye twitching. Her gaze fell upon the side table and locked onto a wired remote with a single button. She had no doubt that pressing the button would summon the nurse, but she suspected they wouldn’t be keen on helping her do anything other than resting. _Well, I'll just... expand the remote's uses to include “projectile.”_ She snatched it and deftly threw it at Bruce’s chest in a manner that wouldn't depress the button on it.

“Ow! What the...?” Bruce muttered as the pain roused him. His eyes, still half dazed with sleepiness moved to inspect his chest. Even in the dim light, he could clearly see he wasn't injured. He glanced up, his eyes finally beginning to adjust to the darkness, and saw Megan sitting in her bed, a distinctly impatient look adorning her face. “You're awake? Why are you awake? It's only been...” He glanced at the clock on the wall, his eyes squinting to make out the hands' positions, and sighed in exasperation. “An hour or two? Honestly, Megan. You need to rest after —”

“Nope. I don't want to. Rest is for the dead,” Megan said with a frown. “Besides, I don't sleep much. Especially when I have ideas itching to be recorded. You know this. You live with me.”

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. “I haven't been living with you for _that_ long. It's been, what, a handful of days?

Ignoring his response, Megan pushed herself into a more upright than inclined position, grunting from the effort. She still felt numb, but she had regained enough energy to somewhat counter the numbness. She patted the sheet covering her lap. “Hook me up, big guy. I need a laptop, so unless Pepper has been by with _my_ laptop, I need you to go get one. Stat.”

“Stat?” Bruce asked with an amused expression, already resigning himself to doing what she wanted.

“Hospital slang. If I speak like them, the natives might not eat me.” She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, what would you even call that? I mean, if I was concentrated into cereal format, I suppose I would be 'brain grain' or some awful pun like that. You really should get me a laptop, or I'll continue to develop morbid names for foods made out of me. Hell, they already cut off a chunk. 'Leg of Meg,' anyone? Ooh, that could be the cereal's mascot! Peg Leg Meg, bane of the Californian coast!”

Bruce stood and groaned as he stretched his sleepy limbs, coaxing life back into them after his nap in such an uncomfortable position. He didn't miss the slight grimace on Megan's face, despite her attempt at humor. He looked down at her and drank in her image. _She really is a small thing. With the way she rushes into danger, you'd never notice how frail she is._ “I'm sure you'd give Captain Crunch a run for his money. So, you have 'ideas itching to be recorded.' Am I correct in guessing they involve your leg?”

Meg's eyes narrowed slightly, a movement which Bruce missed because of the darkness. “Yes.” _I swear, if he refuses to get me a laptop..._

Bruce sighed. “I'll get a laptop for you, but you have to promise me that you're not going to dwell on this, Meg. It's not healthy.” A pained look came over his face. “I would know. I spent years looking for a cure, and —”

“Bruce,” Megan interrupted. “I've already had this discussion with myself; I'm not going to have it with you too. I need a laptop, so I _can_ move past this. I'm going to start making a prosthetic leg.”

Bruce blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why bother when you can buy one?”

“Puh-lease. I'm Megan Stark. I'll be damned if I'm going to settle for less than a robotic leg that works _better_ than my original leg.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, Bruce's eyes locked with Megan's, probing them to see how serious she was. Eventually, Bruce lips quirked into a slight grin. “Yes. The great Megan Stark certainly shouldn't settle for less.” He took a step closer to her, leaned in, and brushed her lips with his own — a quick, chaste kiss. “Well then,” he said as he drew himself back upright and began moving towards the door, “I'll see what I can scrounge up.”

* * *

“Hi there,” Bruce said with a winning, but weathered smile as he approached the nurse's desk. “Sorry to be a bother, but would you happen to have a laptop I could borrow? I was so busy today that I forgot to bring my own with me.” _Technically not a lie..._

The nurse stared at him. “Sir, we don't have laptops to loan out. This isn't a library. If you need computer access, then you'll have to go downstairs to the lobby and use one of the temporary-use stations there.”

“Of course, of course. But, uh, I was rather hoping I could stay with Megan, since she's had such a... rough couple of days. Would you mind if I borrowed yours for a bit then?” Bruce replied, doing his best to look hopeful.

The nursed sighed, torn between frustration and understanding. Tracking down a laptop for him to use would keep her from her work, but she knew that “rough day” was an understatement. Before she could make a decision, however, someone nearby interrupted them. “I have one you can use, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce turned to face the new voice and found it belonged to the fit, blond-haired man who had been guarding Megan's room when she first woke up. “Thank you, Agent...?”

“Clint Barton,” Clint supplied. He tapped his booted foot against a black leather laptop case resting on the ground next to him. “Agent Coulson suspected this may come in handy, so he left with me with it in case... you needed it,” he said with a knowing look.

 _Am I that transparent, or does S.H.I.E.L.D. just know Megan that well?_ Bruce wondered. “Thanks, I appreciate it,” he said while making his way to the agent, leaving the nurse to return to her duties.

Before Bruce could kneel down and pick up the case, Clint snatched it up with a laugh. “Ah, I suppose you'll need me to do the password, right? Here, let's just head in there, and I'll type it in for you.” He didn't wait for a reply, immediately turning on his heel and smoothly opening the door to Megan's room, leaving a wary Bruce to follow in his wake.

* * *

After Bruce had entered the room and shut the door behind him, Clint passed Megan the case. “Here you go, Iron.”

She accepted it with a raised eyebrow. “So, you're my guard or something then? Lucky me. You're clearly with S.H.I.E.L.D., or you wouldn't know that name.”

Clint smirked at the duo before replying, “Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye; marksman extraordinaire. A pleasure to meet you. And I'm not your guard, per se.” He indicated Bruce with a nod of his head. “That's technically his job, since he refused to leave your side. I'm here to make sure this is a... stress free environment.”

To his credit, Bruce kept his calm, but Megan growled, replying, “If that's all, Hawkeye, then I recommend you leave the room. Your presence is _stressful_.”

“Hey, I didn't have to tell you why I was here,” Clint said, raising his arms in submission. “I was given no order one way or the other. Since you're a fellow operative, I figured I'd do you the favor of keeping you informed. I doubt you'd need it, but the password is on a piece of paper in the bag. I'll see myself out.”

Before Clint could leave, Megan called out to him. “Hawkeye.” Clint paused and looked back over his shoulder at her. She eyed him for a minute and eventually muttered, “Thank you.”

Clint's smirk returned. “No problem, Iron,” he replied before departing.

She sighed as the door slid shut and turned to face Bruce, who had watched the exchange with an impartial air. “Sorry about that. I guess I'm... protective?”

Bruce chuckled. “I was just amused that you got angrier than me. You know, I know a few techniques that could help you manage that anger very effectively.”

Megan groaned as she pulled the laptop from the bag and opened it with a flourish. “Zip it. I'm creating.”

* * *

**Friday, January 2nd, 2004 @ 10:32a, EST | NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, NYC**

Megan inspected the 3D rendering of the mechanical leg on the screen, searching for imperfections. The work had been quicker than usual, since she had already had a well developed starting point: Her armor. The leg didn't need to be completely solid. In fact, she could put the empty space to good use and keep extra weaponry on hand in case she was ever in trouble and couldn't get to her suit. She had worked through the night nonstop, spare the moments when nurses would come in to check on her, forcing her to hastily hand the computer to Bruce. He had remained awake with her well into the night before slumber finally overcame him again. He was neither an expert in robotics nor how her suit functioned, but he knew enough to give an outsider's opinion and work through potential issues with her. The true test for the design would come once the prosthetic leg was physically crafted, since even the best laid plans could fail in practice. A lesson she had been painfully reminded of the first time she experimented with flying via repulsors.

When the sound of muffled voices speaking outside the door reached Megan's ears, she deposited the computer on the bedside table closest to the still sleeping Bruce. That way, she could pretend he had left it there if the nurse asked. The door soon slid open revealing not nurses, but rather Pepper and Rhodes, who were both harried and worried. Pepper stalked in first with Rhodes following behind after shutting the door, and Megan winced, anticipating the coming storm.

Once Pepper reached the foot of Megan's bed, she cast a look at Bruce then turned her eyes back to Megan with a look that locked her in place (not that she could go anywhere, anyway). “ _Megan Stark_! What the _hell_ did you do to yourself? You're AWOL for a whole day, and when I finally track you down, I find out you're in a hospital in New York?! I saw you on the news in that... suit, so I know you were involved in that catastrophe in Times Square yesterday!” Pepper ground out in a fierce whisper as Rhodes reached the bed.

“You caught me,” Megan whispered in reply with as much of a placating voice as she could muster. “It's on the internet, so it must be true.”

Pepper briefly gave her a smoldering look before it melted into a face that clearly said she couldn't decide whether to hug or yell at her. Rhodes smoothly interrupted, likewise keeping the volume of his voice low. “Why were you involved? You should have let the military handle it.”

Megan snorted derisively before replying, “Spare me. We both know they could do no such thing. That's why _they_ called _us_ in.”

“Us?” the pair asked in unison, confusion evident in their voices.

“Yes. Us,” Bruce said as he finally opened his eyes, abandoning the pretense of sleep he had been keeping up since Pepper's initial words woke him.

“I don't believe we've met,” Rhodes eventually said. “I'm —”

“Rhodey, Pepper: Meet Bruce. Bruce: Meet Rhodey and Pepper. Bruce is my new, err, roomie back home,” Megan said, cutting in. “Now that everyone's been introduced, can I get a hug or something here? I _am_ glad to see you, you know.”

Under Megan's prompting, Pepper finally abandoned her anger for the moment, crossed the distance between them, and pulled her into a fierce hug. Rhodes followed soon after, giving her an even tighter hug. As he pulled back, he cheekily asked, “So why are you still in a hospital bed? You were held captive by terrorists for months and injured yourself escaping, yet you refused to see a doctor after I found you in the desert.”

The light in Megan's eyes dimmed a bit, and Bruce wearily sighed. Pepper noticed the change in the atmosphere immediately. “Megan?” she softly inquired.

“I... I lost...” Megan began to say before choking on her own words. She didn't want to drag them into this world she had entered, but she knew she had to tell them. They would find out eventually anyway. “They had to amputate the bottom of my left leg.”

Pepper began to collapse, the announcement leaving her legs suddenly weak. Rhodes caught her and supported her, but his eyes were locked onto the sheet covering where Megan's two legs should have been — where he now noticed only one whole and one half remained. Eventually, his eyes found Megan's and, with a pain filled voice, he asked, “What happened?”

Megan looked away, unable to face the sorrow in her friend's gaze. “That gray Abomination, the one who was attacking civilians, did it. He crushed the armor around the bottom half of my leg, but... But I couldn't get medical attention. We still had to stop him.”

Rhodes' eyes narrowed as he turned gaze upon Bruce. “You keeping saying 'we' and 'us.' Where exactly were you in this, Bruce?”

Bruce steeled himself, preparing for what would almost certainly be a bad reaction. “I was the green guy.”

Pepper gasped in abject horror, and in the blink of an eye, Rhodes had drawn his gun from his belt holster and leveled it with Bruce's head. Even though he was prepared and knew the gun wouldn't kill him, Bruce tensed and his heart rate monitor begin fiercely beeping in warning. He knew he would survive even a point blank shot to the head — after all, he had previously attempted to take his own life in the same way — but he would transform, and that would put innocent lives in danger.

“Rhodey! Put it away!” Megan screamed at him, ignoring the pain that seared through her leg as she involuntarily clenched up. “He's a _good guy_! I told you already — _we_ were called in!” _Well, technically only I was called in, but this is hardly the time for semantics._

Rhodes warily lowered the weapon but didn't holster it. “Explain,” he curtly replied.

* * *

Rhodes slowly holstered his gun as Bruce finished giving the back-story behind his transformations and Megan smoothly inserted assurances that Bruce had control, carefully leaving out the exact degree of said control. With the gun safely in its holster, Rhodes finally shook his head as if to make sure he wasn't dreaming. “I knew you were getting involved in something crazy, Meg, but _this_ isn't what I expected.”

“Are you safe to be here?” Pepper asked Bruce, her voice betraying her suspicions.

Bruce held up the wrist adorned with his heart rate monitor, which had long since stopped beeping as his heart rate returned to normal. “I use this to keep track of my state. Generally, the only way I transform is when something causes my heart rate to sky rocket.”

Rhodes didn't miss Bruce's careful wording. “'Generally?' What else would cause it?”

Bruce gestured at Rhodey's holstered gun. “If you had shot me, I would have subconsciously transformed to avoid death. I literally would have spit the bullet back out.” Pepper and Rhodes could only stare in reply.

The four of them sat there in silence for a long time. Pepper and Rhodes were still coming to terms with Megan's injury and the revelations about Bruce. Megan and Bruce were aware of this, and left them to their ruminations.

Eventually, Pepper spoke up. “Megan, I'm not sure you should let him live with you. Even if he's 'generally' safe.” The reference to Bruce's previous statement made Megan wince.

“I have to agree,” Rhodes added. “Think about what could happen, Megan. You shouldn't leave your safety up to chance. What would your parents think?”

Bruce sighed wearily, slumping back into his chair. The duo's concerns were valid, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought the same. Megan's reaction was much different, however. She narrowed her eyes and glared darkly at her friends. “Duly noted and ignored. It's my decision, and it's already made. I will _not_ toss him into the streets or, heaven forbid, the life of a fugitive. As for what my parents would think... This is the life I've chosen. I know they would respect that. Do _not_ try to guilt trip me by mentioning them like that again.” A light shimmer of held back tears crept into her eyes at the mention of her parents, causing Rhodes to wince. Bringing them up had been a low blow, and he knew it.

Unsure what else to do or say, Pepper strode towards the room's exit, retrieved a bag she had deposited on the floor, and handed it to Megan. “Your phone, laptop, and some changes of clothes are in there. I wasn't sure how long you'd be in here, so if you need more, then let me know.”

“Thank you,” Megan replied, her voice tight. “For bringing this and coming to see me. Both of you.”

The two visitors knew she was dismissing them, so they quickly said their last goodbyes and departed.

Once they had left, Bruce turned to Megan. “Weren't you a bit too rough on them? They're your oldest friends. I don't want you to lose them, much less over me.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Megan swiftly replied, her blue eyes locking onto his neon green ones. “As you said, they're my oldest friends; they could handle it. They needed to see that I trust you, and I had to be serious enough for them to get over their initial impressions of you being a crazy, homicidal monster.”

Bruce frowned. “Well, technically, I _am_ a crazy, homicidal monster when I hulk out.”

If looks could kill, Megan's would have struck Bruce dead in an instant. “Are you fucking deaf? I just got done telling you to not be ridiculous! We've already had this discussion. You _saved_ me from drowning, and you fought _with_ me against the monster who crushed my leg — both times while you were hulked out. You may not be in complete control, but you are _not_ a monster. You are a fucking _hero_.”

Bruce raised his hands in a submissive gesture, and Megan took a deep, calming breath. Anxious to change the subject, Bruce asked, “I bet you were up the whole time I was sleeping, so show me what you got done.”

* * *

Another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had covered for Clint during the night, giving the expert marksman an opportunity to get some much needed rest, but he had recently returned to the post once more. The entire conversation from inside Megan's room had been broadcast into his left earpiece, and as the two scientists delved once more into technical mumbo jumbo that he couldn't follow, Director Fury's voice entered his right earpiece. “Agent Barton. Report.”

Clint withdrew his phone from his pocket, pulled up a chat interface to Fury, and deftly typed his response. “Potts and Rhodes visited. Iron revealed the truth about Banner. Judging by what they said, I suspect Rhodes pulled his gun on Banner, but Iron diffused the situation. She showed clear attachment to him — potentially love, though I would need to either hear more or see her body language to know for sure. Now they're working on the robotic leg design again.” Clint's report went unnoticed. To the rest of the world, he merely appeared to be texting with his phone.

“Good work,” Fury said, leaving the typing to Clint. “We'll arrange a meeting discussing Dr. Banner's living arrangements. For now, continue monitoring and keep the staff's interaction with Iron minimal. The less they're around the good doctor, the better.”

“Understood,” Clint typed before shutting his phone, depositing it into his pocket once more.

* * *

**Tuesday, January 6th, 2004 @ 5:45p, EST | NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, NYC**

“Okay, Jarvis. I'm ready on this end. Give me the video feed.”

“Right away, ma'am.”

The video feed opened up on the screen of Megan's laptop, and with a deft stroke, she maximized the window to give her a clearer view of the robotic appendage Jarvis had constructed in the lab. Her thigh still ached from where she'd injected the neural sensors, high enough that the nurses wouldn't notice when they changed the bandages on her wound. Bruce half sat on the portion of Megan's bed that she'd left open for him and watched the proceedings with a bemused expression. “Okay, I tell my left ankle to bend down straight, and...” The appendage's ankle smoothly bent in reaction to the neural input Megan's brain had sent to her leg, eliciting an excited giggle from her. “Excellent! And some rotation...” Test after test, the appendage moved according to Megan's whims, precisely matching the motion and speed she desired. Some of the movements looked unnatural, since the robotic version was clearly more flexible than the original had been, but Megan nevertheless deemed it a success.

“Jarvis, pack it up for transport and give it to Pepper. I want that here for when I leave tomorrow.”

“Of course, ma'am. You wouldn't want to start the day on the wrong foot.”

“Oh ha ha. At least my sense of humor is rubbing off on you. I'm out,” Megan said as she killed the audio and video feeds.

“I'm surprised that went so well,” Bruce commented. “I know you already had a working base with your armor, but it's still an incredible feat to have it react to injected neural sensors.”

“Why surprised? Of course it was going to work. I built it, after all,” Megan smugly replied with a wide grin.

“How silly of me to forget that in my calculations,” Bruce said with a laugh.

Before Megan could continue their banter, the door to her room slide open. The duo looked up to find none other than Nick Fury shutting it behind himself. “I hope I'm not interrupting?”

Bruce tensed, and Megan laid a calming hand on his leg. “Not at all. I was wondering when you would be by.”

“Why is that? You were already debriefed on the events of New Year's Eve,” the director said as he strode into the room and came to a halt at the foot of Megan's bed.

“You bugged the room. You didn't think that would escape my notice, did you? That means you heard me tell Pepper and Rhodey about Bruce's transformations and how he'll be living with me long term. I'm frankly surprised you let him stay with me for the time he did without speaking up about it. This conversation was long overdue.”

“Astute as always, Iron,” Fury acknowledged with a smirk. “That's one of the reasons I wanted you to work with S.H.I.E.L.D., but I'm sure you already figured that out too.” He turned his attention to Bruce. “Dr. Banner, I know we briefly met in person on New Year's Day, but I never officially introduced myself. I'm Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.” He took a step closer to Bruce and extended his hand, which Bruce warily shook.

“Megan's told me about you. I had thought the military had lost me, so I asked her how she found me. I have mixed feelings about you tracking me, but you have my thanks for your help with keeping General Ross off my trail.”

“Speaking of the general,” Fury replied. “Iron, are you aware that he helped you with your fight against Blonsky?” The shocked look on Megan's face confirmed that she had not. “He was the person who directed you to the construction site. It may have only saved you a minute or two, but nevertheless, he did show that he can overlook his obsession with the good doctor.”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “I still hate him for the hell he put me through, but even I could see that he was willing to put it aside, though I'm willing to bet it's temporary. He... he came to visit you as well. He was here when you first woke up.”

That particular moment had been an incredibly tense one for her, but Megan did recall seeing a man she had yet put a name to. _So that's who he was._ “Is he going to leave Bruce alone?”

“He's expressed that his views regarding Dr. Banner being military property have not changed, but I've made it abundantly clear that there will be severe consequence if he repeats his past actions,” Fury replied.

“Well, tell him he needs to pay my repair bill too. Just because I can cover it doesn't mean I should. _He's_ the one who attacked _my_ car!”

Fury quirked his only visible eyebrow. “I'll be sure to let him know. As for Dr. Banner's continued living situation —”

“It won't be a problem. He's staying with me,” Megan interjected.

“Oh? I'm so glad to hear that,” Fury sardonically retorted. “If you wouldn't mind, I would love to hear how 'it won't be a problem.'”

“Gladly. As you're aware, Bruce has hulked out twice while staying with me ("Neither of which was our fault, for the record."). He's proved he can contain the change, even when under stress, so long as he is not directly attacked or otherwise reaches the moment before death. This is clear when you compare the two changes. Directly before the second change, I flew him to NYC while holding him with my suit, but he didn't hulk out until _after_ he asked me to drop him into the fray with that Abomination. The first change only occurred because someone in that helicopter managed to shoot Bruce after we fled the car ("It was a hell of a shot, by the way. Jarvis told me later how far away we were at the time."). And even that situation would have been avoided, had I then known that Bruce could survive me traveling at top speed in my suit. In short, Bruce has a lot more control than S.H.I.E.L.D. gives him credit for, and so long as we're relatively close to an ocean, I can get him away from anyone he can harm before the change is even complete. He's safer with me, and that's what we want anyway.”

For a moment, the one-eyed director said nothing, his eye alternating between staring at Megan and Bruce. Eventually, he replied, “Very well. I've known you could potentially get him out of harm's way since our last phone call, but I wanted to be sure you were on board with being his constant escape plan for when he 'hulks' out.” It may have been a trick of the light, but Megan swore that Fury's lip twitched, as if to grin, after he uttered the slang she and Bruce had for the transformation. “It is... a relief to hear that you at least have better control over your transformations, doctor, but needless to say, I still have my eye on you.” Bruce tensed but slowly nodded, saying nothing. Fury stared at him a moment longer before turning his gaze back to Megan. “Iron, you aren't being paid, but consider yourself on medical leave anyway.” Fury's gaze intensified. “When I offered you a job, you refused. 'I'm doing this because it needs to be done,' you said. Has that changed, now that you see the price you may be asked to pay?”

Even Bruce waited with bated breath for Megan's answer. He had wondered the same thing: Had she reached the limit of her willingness to put her life on the line? _Honestly, I don't think I'll be happy, regardless of how she answers. It might be noble — even the right thing to do — to put yourself on the line to save innocent people, but... but what would that do to me, if I lost her? I don't know how much longer what we have can last, but I'm happy for the first time in years. I don't want to give that up!_

Megan didn't hesitate. “Don't be an idiot, spy boy. What part of 'it needs to be done' didn't you understand? We already established that you bugged this room, so that means you're aware of the prosthetic that is currently being prepped to be brought out here by Pepper. Once I'm back home, I'll fix the flaw in my armor that allowed this to happen. My suit got a measurement of the pressure applied to my leg when it was crushed; I won't be satisfied until I can handle that and more. I'll be back and ready for action in a week or two, tops. After all, it wouldn't do for the Avengers' roster to suffer a loss after all the trouble I went through.” She smirked widely. “Now, are you going to officially ask Bruce or not?”

Fury muttered something unsavory about Megan calling him “spy boy,” but eventually smirked and replied, “Good to hear, Iron.” He turned to face Bruce. “Dr. Banner, I want to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative.”

* * *

**Wednesday, January 7th, 2004 @ 09:19a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

As Happy pulled into the driveway and Pepper continued to pelt Megan with paperwork, Megan did her best to keep her mind off of Bruce. He had been relatively quiet since Fury's visit, which ended with him telling Fury he “would think about it.” Megan had wanted to ask him what he was thinking about, but ultimately decided to give him space until they reached home. Once she escaped Pepper and the duties of being a CEO, she would track down Bruce and begin the overdue conversation. Her prosthetic had worked like a charm, though the hospital staff had given her hell over the experimentation with her body while under their care. If she was honest with herself, there was still a part of her that mourned for the loss of her leg, and she was fairly sure it would never go away. For now, she resigned herself to ensuring nothing similar would happen again. She wasn't anxious to become more of a cyborg than she already was ( _An artificial heart and half a leg are more than enough, thanks._ ), and the necessity of changing her bandages for the next month or two would help keep that goal fresh in her mind.

“Thanks, Happy,” Megan muttered as she climbed out of the car. “Pepper, whatever ideas or proposals you had left bounce off me will have to wait. Come by later tonight. Bruce, we need to talk.” Bruce, who had already extracted himself from the car, nodded solemnly. He too had known they would need to talk. The pair made their way inside while Happy drove off with the miffed Pepper before she could exit the car and give Megan a piece of her mind. It had been obvious to her that something was bothering Megan and Bruce — who she strongly suspected were dating, but she wasn't sure about that — but that didn't make Pepper any happier about her job being made more difficult.

Bruce began the dreaded conversation once the front door had been shut and Jarvis' greeting answered. “Why didn't you tell me about the bugging? I really don't understand why you wouldn't mention that to me when you knew.”

“I didn't actually know the room was bugged,” Megan answered without hesitation.

If Bruce had been walking, he certainly would have stumbled. “Wait, what?”

“I strongly suspected the room was bugged, but for me to check, I would've needed to ask Pepper to get me the right tools. Had I been wrong about the room being bugged, then I would've looked paranoid; had I been right, then I would've just given Fury and his S.H.I.E.L.D. buddies the satisfaction of knowing they got one up on me. There was nothing we discussed or did in that room I was uncomfortable with him knowing, so I took the alternative approach. The risk was the same as before: Looking paranoid. The potential gain, however, was better: Fury would clearly get the message that I'm not to be trifled with. The only cost was giving up information that I was already fine disclosing: Pepper and Rhodey knowing about you, the fact that you'd be living with me, and the prosthetic. Any more questions?”

Bruce, whose eyes had slowly grown wider as Megan explained her thought process, answered honestly, “I... no. No, I guess. Just in the future, please tell me about that kind of thing, if you _can_. You know I hate the military, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is complicit, since they let Ross hunt me. If they're spying on me, I want to know.”

“Do you... Do you hate that I'm working _with_ S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Megan morosely asked, fearing the worst. “I know I already told you they don't answer to the military, but since you view them as one and the same...”

“I wouldn't say that I'm _happy_ about it, but you're doing it for all the right reasons.” He smiled softly. “No, I can't hate you, Megan.”

Megan's lips slowly mirrored Bruce's. “Good. Now, I was rather hoping we could... have some fun, now that we're bug-free.” She finished with a saucy wink, her cheeks a light pink.

Bruce flushed, but calmly replied, “I thought we had agreed to not have sex? I might hulk out, and you said you were uncomfortable with it.”

Megan playfully brought her arms up to Bruce's shoulders, clasping her hands behind his neck. “And _I_  recall you saying that you were fine with it, spare your concerns about how I'd handle the mean, green machine in bed.”

Bruce's flush grew exponentially in intensity, his calm demeanor vanishing as he drank in the lustful gleam in her blue eyes. “Y-yes, that's right. I _am_ still concerned about the ramifications of my heart rate getting too high.”

Megan's lips quirked into a mirthful smirk. “So we'll do it in the lab. I can quickly hop in the armor and fly you away, should the worst happen, and you have to admit, as a scientist, that it's totally kinky to do it surrounded by all that technology.”

“So we're... testing in a controlled environment? What's your hypothesis then?” _I did not just ask that! I did, didn't I? Smoooooooth..._

“Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty,” Megan replied with a giggle. “I hypothesize that your now permanently neon green eyes mean you have greater control over when you change. You are aware on a subconscious level that I'm not a danger to you, so having fun with me on the cool floor of my lab won't cause you to hulk out.”

 _Wait, did she just play along with my stupid hypothesis question? Holy... That is_ so _hot!_ “Sounds like a plan. You have my... informed consent.”

Megan said nothing but immediately grabbed Bruce's hand and start pulling him towards the stairwell, her blue eyes full of laughter and lust.

* * *

“Miss Potts, I highly recommend that you come again tomorrow. Miss Stark wouldn't want to be seen, right now,” Jarvis intoned as Pepper descended the stairs into Megan's basement, having returned that evening.

“I need her to give me a decision about the tech demonstration, Jarvis, and she _did_ tell me to come back tonight. Besides, I notice that you _didn't_ say Megan told you she doesn't want to be seen, so she can put whatever it is she's doing on hold long enough for me to get my job done.”

“She's sleeping, Miss Potts, but I assure you that she would want you to come back tomorrow.”

“Well, sleeping in the lab isn't good for her anyway. I'll send her up to bed,” Pepper replied as she tapped the code into the lab door's keypad and her eyes scanned the lab for her boss. The lights were on, but she didn't see her or Bruce anywhere in the lab, but Pepper intuitively knew this was where at least one of them would be. She still wasn't sure how she felt about the man living with Megan, regardless of his _breathtaking_ anger problem, but it wasn't her place to tell Megan how to live her life. She bustled into the lab, taking note that Megan's armor was on display nearby. It had a different paint job from when she'd first seen it, but regardless, she still recognized it as the suit Megan had used to rescue her from Obadiah. Megan had remained tight lipped about why she built it, and Pepper had to admit she was still curious about the matter. She made her way towards it to get a closer look at the technological marvel, but once she reached it, she was met with a surprise.

 _Speaking of how Megan lives her life..._ “Megan! Really? In your _lab_?!” Pepper screeched upon finding the couple naked, with their clothes haphazardly discarded nearby, on the floor near the armor where they had fallen asleep earlier after wearing themselves out. Conveniently, they had been obscured from view of the lab entrance by a work table with shelves underneath it. She averted her eyes, her cheeks matching her red hair.

Bruce's eyes flew open, ever the light sleeper from his years on the run, but he was the only one. “Pepper, I'll do whatever it is later,” Megan groggily replied swatting at the air in Pepper's direction.

Bruce hastily covered his genitals with one hand while snatching Megan's yoga pants, which had been discarded nearby, with the other. He quickly draped them over Megan to cover her up, since she was laying on her back, her front completely exposed. “Miss Potts!” Bruce said, a sheepish smile on his face as he quickly turned away and began to retrieve and don his own discarded clothes. “What a... pleasant surprise. I swear, there's a _very_ good reason we're down here. We —”

“We're experimenting, Pep, go away! Scientists only,” the still sleeping Megan murmured while rolling over onto her side inadvertently causing Bruce's makeshift cover to fall off and the metal half of her left leg to scrape against the floor.

“Is this some kind of... of _kink_ or something?” Pepper wondered aloud as Bruce hurriedly covered her with the pants once more and began to gentle shake Megan awake. “You know what? Don't answer that question. I do not want to know.”

“Bruuuuuce...” Megan sleeply muttered as she finally began to come to. “I was actually tired for once... You were so — OH MY GOD, IS THAT _PEPPER_?!” Her eyes may have been bleary from slumber, but she had enough vision to recognize that her assistant's presence in the room was, in fact, not a dream. “I- I... This isn't what it looks like!” the now flushing Megan said in a panic as she grabbed her clothes from Bruce, who had collected them into a bundle.

“Really? Then what, pray tell, is it, Meg?” Pepper replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“It's... Err... Okay, so it's _exactly_ what it looks like,” Megan mumbled as she quickly clothed herself, carefully slipping her left leg into her pants. She might have complete control over it, but she didn't have sensory input from it and had to be careful in order to avoid snagging the clothing. “I swear, it was just an experi—”

“I do _not_ want to hear about your ' _experiment_ ,' Megan!” Pepper practically shouted, cutting Megan off while Bruce palmed his face and groaned.

* * *

Once everyone was fully attired and upstairs in the living room ( _“I don't want to have a conversation where you just had sex!”_ ), Pepper ground out her question. “Megan, I need a final yes or no on the plans for the tech demonstration. We're quickly approaching the point of no return; you can't delay any longer. Honestly, you have to stop giving your job zero effort — be in the moment!”

“And here I thought I'd gotten as high as 12% effort,” Megan weakly joked before sighing and wearily running her hand through her short hair. She hadn't relished canceling the twenty year anniversary of the Stark Expo, especially after her father put so much planning into it before he died, but after everything that had happened, she knew she wouldn't be able to handle the pressure. And that decision had been made _before_ she lost half of her leg; her stress had practically doubled since then. “I'll do whatever you've planned, Pep. I mean, let's be honest, you're the real CEO of...” Megan froze, her eyes glazing over. _The real CEO... That would really reduce my stress levels..._ Her eyes lost their glaze and locked onto Pepper, who was caught off guard by their sudden seriousness. “Pep, I need you to set aside how you're feeling about what you saw downstairs and everything that's happened recently, logically think through what I'm about to ask you, and give me your honest answer. Okay?”

“Okay...” Pepper warily replied, wondering what could possibly make Megan act like this.

Bruce watched the two carefully, fascinated and pondering. He had seen Megan's eyes glaze over before, but both times had been in particularly tense or emotional moments, so he had never given much thought to what they implied about Megan. _Does it indicate she's thinking through scenarios? That seems likely, but I won't know for sure unless I ask her or see it in action a few more times._

Megan took a deep breath and carefully chose her wording. “Would you make a better CEO of Stark Industries than me?”

Pepper's eyes widened dramatically, and her fingers began to turn white from her gripping the clipboard so tightly. “I'm sorry? I must've misheard you.”

Bruce was just as surprised at the sudden question, but he did understand the point Megan was making. Her primary role in the company was R&D. Her duties as CEO were handled entirely by Pepper, spare matters that Megan had to personally attend to as the CEO by name. _The real question is why she's asking this at all_ , he wondered.

“No, no,” Megan replied. “You heard me perfectly. Would you make a better CEO of Stark Industries than me?” Pepper collapsed backwards into the chair she had been sitting primly upon, clearly in shock. Megan sighed, seeing that asking her to logically think through her answer was asking too much after springing such a loaded question on her. “Look, I'll answer for you. Yes, you absolutely would. You know the job inside and out, and you've basically been doing it for me since Dad died. I've had so much on my plate recently that I haven't been able to focus on it as much as I should. It's logical to consider giving the job to someone else, but I can't just give _anybody_ the company my father built from the ground up. He passed the torch onto me, his family. If I'm to pass it on again, it has to be to family, and you, Pepper, are a part of my family.”

Bruce leaned forward in his seat, anxiously awaiting Pepper's reply. _So that's what she's thinking. It_ does _make sense, and it would definitely help relieve some of the stress she's been under._

For several minutes, Pepper said nothing. The duo half suspected she had legitimately gone into shock. Eventually, she replied, her voice laced with emotion, “Megan, I... I don't know what to say.”

“I recommend either 'yes' or 'no,'” Megan replied mirthfully.

Pepper's lips twitched up slightly at Megan's words. “Are you _sure_ you want to do this?”

“I am, if it's _you_ ,” she levelly retorted.

Another moment of silence. “Yes,” Pepper finally answered, a true smile blossoming on her face.

“Excellent!” Megan replied, breaking into a smile of her own. She turned her attention to Bruce and gave him a salacious wink. “Now we have a wider window for sex without her stumbling upon us.”

Pepper's cheeks flared scarlet, and Bruce groaned. “Megan!” Pepper shrilly said. “I thought we were having a _moment_!”

“I was giving it 12% effort, so really, we were having 12% of a moment,” Megan quipped before breaking down into giggles.

* * *

**Sunday, December 7th, 2003 @ 10:26p, MSK | Moscow, Russia**

“Ivan... Vanya... That should be you.”

Ivan Vanko looked away from the Stark press conference being interpreted into Russian on his small TV. The room was dimly lit. He and his father, Anton, did not have much; Howard Stark had seen to that when he deported them, clearly jealous of his father and hoping to keep the arc reactor design all to himself. “Don't listen to that crap,” Ivan muttered as he smoothed his father's rumpled hair. He was in terrible shape, but they didn't have the money for the type of care he needed. All Ivan could do was do his best to keep him comfortable — to soothe him in his final days.

“I'm sorry,” Anton weakly replied, his voice hoarse. “All I can give you is my knowledge.” He shuddered briefly before suddenly stopping.

Ivan froze. He listened carefully, fearing the worst. In the silence, the only heartbeats Ivan could hear were his own. Reflexively, he snatched a nearby bottle of liquor and took a swig, planning once more to drown himself in alcohol to escape his sorrows. He felt the powerful liquid wash over his tongue, and immediately knew it would not be enough this time. It would never again be enough. He had known his father would die, but once it happened before his eyes, the anger inside him began boiling over. His dirty, tattooed hands grasped at his black hair, pulling at the locks which had begun to turn white and gray from the stress of his lot in life. He cried out, his eyes cast at the ceiling, as if he could see straight through it to the heavens that had forsaken his family, daring the gods who cursed him to show their faces.

Sometime later, he finally regained control of himself. He knew what he had to do now. His father had passed him the torch. It was his duty to get revenge on the Starks. Howard and Maria Stark were already dead, so he would have to settle for their child — that _thing. It_ had admitted as much in the press conference. There was only one fitting end for the merchant of war: He would kill _it_ with a weapon powered by the very arc reactor their fathers had completed together. He had the blueprint, but he only had enough materials in his hovel to begin crafting the reactor itself. It would take time to gather the necessary components, and it would have to be small — much smaller than the one his father and Stark had designed. But Ivan knew he could manage.

He began.


	8. Chapter Seven: Falling, Standing, Flying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_Sometime later, he finally regained control of himself. He knew what he had to do now. His father had passed him the torch. It was his duty to get revenge on the Starks. Howard and Maria Stark were already dead, so he would have to settle for their child — that_ thing _._ It _had admitted as much in the press conference. There was only one fitting end for the merchant of war: He would kill_ it _with a weapon powered by the very arc reactor their fathers had completed together. He had the blueprint, but he only had enough materials in his hovel to begin crafting the reactor itself. It would take time to gather the necessary components, and it would have to be small — much smaller than the one his father and Stark had designed. But Ivan knew he could manage._

_He began._

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Chapter Seven: Falling, Standing, Flying_

“He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.”

Nietzsche

* * *

**Friday, May 28th, 2004 @ 07:30a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

“Good morning, Dr. Banner. The time is 07:30a — your requested wake up time,” Jarvis' voice intoned as the room's overhead lights came to life.

Megan groaned as the light struck her eye lids, grimacing at the indignity of being awoken so soon after falling asleep. “Bruuuuuce... Why do you always insist on getting up at this god-forsaken hour of the morning?” she grumbled, snatching his abandoned pillow and covering her eyes with it.

Bruce chuckled — entirely too cheerfully for the time of day, in her opinion — while pulling on some clothes. “This is much later than most people wake up for work, Meg. You should try it sometime, though I recommend getting to bed earlier.”

“Waking up early for work? Psssh. The perks of setting one's schedule, Brucey,” Megan retorted. She switched to a cutesy, hopeful voice, and asked, “I don't suppose I could talk you into climbing back in bed with me?”

“Oh, I know better than to listen to _that_ voice,” Bruce replied, his voice full of humor. Fully clothed, he circled around the duo's bed to Megan's side of the bed, knelt down near her half pillow covered face, and gave her a quick kiss. “You'll get me in trouble with Pepper.”

“Mmm...” she purred as she tasted his lips, a wicked grin growing as they parted. “Bringing up other women after you kiss me, hm? That's a winning strategy. C'mon, forget her and cuddle with me! That'll teach her to stop running this business like it's a business. Ha! As if that's how it works.”

“I'm truly lucky to have you around to keep me from falling into her clutches,” he playfully retorted while smiling. _I still can't believe how lucky I am... Six months ago, I was a fugitive who'd been on the run for five years. Now, the military's off my back, I'm living with a brilliant (both in smarts and looks) woman, and I have a job where I get to put my education to use without government goons breathing down my neck._ Bruce's other half had not shown itself since the events at Times Square, but he knew it was still there. He laughed, smiled, and had fun like any normal person would, but underneath it all, a burning rage remained. It had been there, never abating since that first night Megan was in the hospital; his neon green eyes were proof. He had, of course, kept Megan informed about the matter, and they had both agreed to keep that detail a secret from S.H.I.E.L.D. — particularly Nick Fury. The duo knew he could control his darker half, but S.H.I.E.L.D. likely would not be as trusting.

Megan tossed the pillow aside with a sigh, resigning herself to the fact that she was officially wide awake. “Spoil sport. One of these days, I'm just going to tackle you to the ground and drag you back into bed by force, you know!” She gave him a once over and pouted when her eyes locked onto his relatively neat hair. “You didn't even have to brush your hair, did you? _Stupid_ boys and their _stupid_ hair...”

Bruce laughed and gave her another kiss before standing up again. “I'll be in the lab, whenever you want to join me, my pearl.”

Megan watched him depart from the room, her cheeks dusted pink from him using his pet name for her. She didn't remember when he started using it, but she had refused to ask him to stop, since she found it quite endearing. She released one last sigh in protest against the injustice of being awoken so early in the morning then dragged herself out of bed to begin clothing herself. “Jarvis, what's the boss lady want me to do today?”

“Your agenda is the same as usual, Miss Stark: 'Work on whatever that brain of yours concocts,'” Jarvis replied. Megan smirked at Peppers quoted words. Like her pet name, it was another interesting quirk that she left alone for the sheer humor of it. “There is, however, one extra item on the agenda for this evening,” her AI continued. “The Tech Demonstration is tonight at 7p, and Miss Potts will 'have your hide' if you aren't on time.”

“Ugh. I forgot that was today,” Megan mumbled as she finished donning her typical gear monkey attire. “Pick out something nice, Jarvis. First time in the public eye for months and what not.”

“Of course, ma'am,” Jarvis intoned.

Megan snatched a brush and began tackling the messy nest sleep had made of her hair. It had become more unruly over the months, but she hadn't cut it. If she was honest with herself, she knew that she favored her pixie cut and didn't want longer hair, but she didn't want to take the chance of falling into the public eye by getting a simple haircut. _I guess I should get one before tonight though_ , Megan admitted to herself. _Hell, if I go this early in the day, there won't be as many people about. Wait, am I actually acknowledging a benefit to being up early? Ugh... A traitor to my own cause._ “Jarvis, get me a hair appointment ASAP with someone who won't mangle my hair,” she commanded as she began changing into attire more suited for going out into the public. “Subtly remind them that I'm not a fan of the paparazzi, and that I have the power to make their life _hell_ if they tip anyone off about my coming. Tell them there will be a generous tip if they cancel the appointments before and after mine. Drive the Audi out front, and tell Bruce I'll be out for a bit.”

“Right away, ma'am.”

* * *

**Friday, May 28th, 2004 @ 08:26a, PST | Location of Megan's Hair Appointment**

“The location is on your right, ma'am,” Jarvis intoned as Megan began to decelerate. She pulled her new, fully armor-plated Audi into a nearby empty parking spot ( _Another small blessing_ , she begrudgingly chalked up to the early hour of the day.) and climbed out. Summer was almost in full swing on the Californian coast, but Megan had to carefully select her attire in order to not stand out: A simple red polo shirt, thick enough (and buttoned high enough) to hide her arc reactor; a pair of loosely-fitting khaki pants that hid her prosthetic leg; red and white sneakers; and her traditional Oakleys, which she kept in place over her eyes to help obscure her identity. Her hair, which was currently much longer than it had been at the press conference, also helped. She was a bit warm with so much coverage, but it was necessary; a cyborg woman walking down the street would attract a great deal of unwanted attention. She had to admit that her Audi wasn't exactly innocuous, but she didn't have a less flashy car, and the unseen armor plating did make her feel a certain degree of safety. What truly gave her a sense of security, however, was the red and black suitcase in the trunk of her car.

It had taken time and a bit of figurative elbow grease, but Megan had upgraded her suit to withstand an assault from any enemy of the Abomination's caliber or higher, though it wouldn't be able to handle persistent assaults. She hadn't stopped there, however. The impracticality of returning to her lab any time she needed to don the suit was obvious, so she had developed another new version of the suit, focusing on portability: The Mark IV. Concessions had to be made in order to make a suit compact and light enough for easy transport, including weaponry and shock absorption, but that was why it was an emergency suit rather than the default one. The suitcase could easily be stored in any vehicle, but her Audi took it to the next level with the launcher she had built into the trunk. If she were ever attacked in public, Jarvis could drive the car to her and launch the suit with enough accuracy for it to land directly at her feet. Even Bruce had admitted the system was a good, albeit paranoid, idea.

Megan quickly but calmly strode into the hair dresser's shop, the tingle of the bell above the door heralding her entry. She surreptitiously scanned the room to see if the proprietor had ignored her AI's warnings, and was relieved to find the store devoid of clients. _Bonus! The “generous tip” must have been enough incentive._ “Mr. Jackman?” Megan called out. “Your eight thirty is here.” The proprietor peeked his head out from behind a curtained off area in the back of the small establishment, his eyes peering closely at her. His hair boggled Megan: It was dark blue and swept back into dual points. _If this guy does something wonky to my hair, I swear I'll build Jarvis a body then skin him._

“Ah, yes. Right,” the strange man finally acknowledged before withdrawing himself from his impromptu cover. “Sorry, but I really wasn't sure what to expect when your butler called.” Megan giggled at his presumption but didn't bother to correct him. “I figured it might be a prank call, but I only had to cancel one appointment to accommodate you, so I decided to take the risk. And please, call me Hugh.”

“Well, Hugh,” Megan replied as she removed her Oakleys to dispel any further suspicions the man may have had, “Thank you for taking me on such short notice. I forgot all about the company's tech demonstration tonight, and my hair's in dire need of attention.”

Hugh grinned as he beckoned her towards his chair. “Yes, that was one of the reasons I decided to take the chance. I had heard that you would be showing yourself in public for the first time in months, so I figured the time would be ripe for you to seek a haircut, if you hadn't been cutting it all that time.” He gave her a wink, quickly began prepping her hair to be washed, then set about the task. “What were you looking to have done? Just a trim? Some styling? Maybe a splash of color?”

Megan gave a sigh of contentment as Hugh carefully washed her hair, her ruby lips settling into a smile. This was her favorite part of the age-old ritual. “I was hoping you'd give me my traditional pixie cut, and now that you mention it, some color _would_ be nice... Maybe some red highlights?” she mused.

“Ooh! Honey, you are gonna dazzle them. Let's get started.”

* * *

**Friday, May 28th, 2004 @ 10:12a, PST | Los Angeles International Airport**

“Welcome to America, Mr. Turgenov,” the customs agent said as he stamped Ivan's passport. “Boris Turgenov” gave the man a curt nod of acknowledgment before walking through the gate, officially in Los Angeles. His arc reactor powered whips had already been shipped ahead of him, in separate but quick and easy to assemble pieces, under the guise of parts for a visiting professor's experiment at a nearby university. He knew he was playing this close to the chest, but he had no other choice. He had already called in every favor he could to obtain the parts for his whips, to ship them to the U.S. without suspicion, and to arrange his falsified documentation. He hadn't had enough money left, or goodwill of associates to expend, to arrive any sooner than the day of the tech demonstration.

“—ious for tonight's Stark Industries tech demonstration, Bob. This will be Megan Stark's first public appearance since her press conference sixth months ago and making Virginia 'Pepper' Potts the CEO of Stark Industries five months ago. Speculation has been running rampant about what the infamous Megan is planning to demonstrate tonight, and the main question on everyone's minds is whether whatever it is will be enough to stymie the company's hemorrhaging stock index.”

Ivan ignored the TV broadcast and continued exiting the terminal. He had no time to waste, and he already knew Megan Stark's fate.

* * *

**Friday, May 28th, 2004 @ 12:36p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

Bruce was in the middle of carefully examining the 3D blueprint of the future Stark Tower for the tenth time that day, searching for any mistakes that he and Megan may have missed, when the garage door opened. Moments later, Megan's Audi roared into the lab, brakes squealing as it came to halt in its appointed parking place. “Brucey, I'm hooome!” Megan cheerfully called out with a wave as she flipped open the door.

“Welcome home,” Bruce responded with a snort. “You're late to work.”

“I already told you, big guy. 'The perks of setting one's schedule.' Besides, I was getting my hair ready for the presentation. That totally qualifies as work hours. Read the handbook,” Megan quipped back as she began making her way towards the screen he was working at.

Bruce blinked. He wasn't sure how he'd missed the haircut, since her hair was decidedly shorter — and more colorful, for that matter — than it had been that morning. It had been returned to the pixie cut she had when he first met her months ago but with brilliant, bright red highlights interspersed throughout her natural black locks. It complimented her current outfit well, and he had no doubt that the same would hold true with whatever she decided to wear that evening, since most of her suits and blouses involved red in some capacity. He'd never seen her wear them, spare when he saw the news report of her press conference, but he'd come across her wardrobe while exploring the lab. At first, he had been baffled to find them in the lab of all places, but Jarvis had explained: She rarely wore them while working in the lab but almost always ran late to functions she needed to wear them for, so she kept them on hand in order to change as quickly as possible once she remembered that she needed to.

“So, what do you think?” Megan inquired once she reached him.

“Oh, err,” Bruce stammered while searching for an appropriate reply. “I think your hair is really lovely, of course!”

Megan giggled. “I was referring to my blueprint. You know, the one you're looking at?” She winked. “But thank you for the compliment.” When his cheeks flushed, Megan mentally cheered. _Adorable! Operation “Embarrass Bruce”: Success._

Bruce returned his attention to the 3D display. “Right. Of course,” he sheepishly replied. “I've gone over it several times, and I can't find any flaws, as usual. It's got my seal of approval.”

“Well of course there are no flaws,” Megan quipped with a grin. “Stark Tower is our baby, after all!” A second later, Megan's choice of words caught up with her, and she quickly turned away from him.

Bruce opened his mouth to respond but paused, straining his ears. _Did she just start crying?_ His suspicions were confirmed when a moment later, she did a poor job of muffling a sob. _But... why is she crying? All she said was..._ Oh _. Oh_ shit _._ He immediately wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug against his chest, whispering, “Hey now, don't cry. Science will figure that out someday.” He continued whispering comforting words, but internally, he was also panicking, albeit for a different reason. _Does this mean she wants to have a baby with me? Hell, if she's making plans that far in advance, does that mean she's thinking about getting married? Am I even ready for either of those things? I am so out of my league here..._

“Ugh, I'm so stupid,” Megan said, interrupting Bruce's internal hysteria. “Why am I even crying about this? It's not like I haven't known my whole life... I was content with adopting someday. Hell, _I_ was adopted. It _shouldn't_ be bothering me!”

 _She's right, this_ shouldn't _be bothering real-Me_ , rational-Megan pronounced, _but regardless of whether it should or shouldn't, what matters is that it_ is _. Hook me up here, emotional-Me. Give me something to work with._

 _I don't know!_ emotional-Megan mournfully replied. _I mean, real-Me hasn't thought about it in a while..._

_Ooh, that's good — that's a good point! Let's backtrack to the last time real-Me thought about it, so we can get a better idea of what's changed between then and now._

_The first day of real-Me's capture by the Ten Rings_ , a third internal voice announced, catching the other two by surprise. _Estimated August 30th, 2003, and approximately 05:00p, based upon the sun's position in the sky when she met with the leader outside._

 _Err... Thanks_ , rational-Megan awkwardly replied. _So... Who are you?_

 _Real-Me's memory_ , memory-Megan answered shortly and matter-of-factly.

 _Riiiiight... So, is real-Me going to be making any more internal constructs that we should be aware of? 'Cause it's totally getting cramped in here_ , rational-Megan replied.

 _Unknown. This has not yet occurred_ , the newcomer retorted.

_Emotional-Me? Any thoughts on this?_

_Why can't we give birth to children?! Why do we have to suffer through this?_

_Wonderful. Well then. Back to the matter at hand: What's happened since the last time real-Me thought about her inability to be pregnant?_

_August 30th, 2003: Real-me met with leader of Ten—_

_No, no, no! The last thing we need is a day-by-day replay of the past 9 months_ , rational-Megan hastily said, cutting off memory-Megan. _How about this: I'm going to ramble about some stuff I think might have caused this change in reaction, and you tell me if I'm remembering something incorrectly, okay?_

_Okay._

_Good. So! Since then, real-Me has announced to the world that she's a transwoman, built several variations of the suit, killed Obadiah, saved Pepper, technically joined S.H.I.E.L.D., met Bruce, lost the bottom half of her left leg, fallen in love with Bruce, become an even bigger recluse, slept nightly with Bruce, made Pepper the CEO of Stark Industries, had copious amounts of sex with Bruce... Err, you know what? I'm seeing a trend here. It's both totally logical and plausible for real-Me to be hung up on the inability to have children after falling in love with someone for the first time ever. Okay, real-Me: Back to you!_

“Meg? Meg? Are you still in there?”

Megan blinked, the glaze over her eyes disappearing, although it was nigh impossible to tell given they were still filled with tears. “Huh? What?”

“Oh thank heavens,” Bruce said with a sigh of relief. “You were totally unresponsive for a couple of minutes there!”

“I... Err... I was having a conver— you know what? Never mind.” She took stock of her surroundings and found that they were no longer in the lab, but rather the living room. She was laid out on one of the couches, and Bruce was kneeling on the ground beside her. He must have carried her upstairs. “Sorry about that,” she sheepishly replied while attempting to coax her lips into a smile, which ultimately resembled a grimace more than the desired effect. “I think I know why I'm so bothered about this, despite previously being okay.”

“Oh,” Bruce replied, nonplussed. “Well that's a good thing, at least. May I ask what you've discovered?”

“I, ah... Hm,” Megan began to reply before thinking through what she was about to say. “Well, this is going to be really awkward.”

 _Delightful_ , Bruce internally moaned. _Let me guess:_ “It's because you've never loved anyone before, am I right?” Her cheeks once more flushed a brilliant red that matched her new highlights. The combination of her tear-covered face and scarlet cheeks made Bruce's heart lurch. _Try being a little less blunt next time, Banner._

“Y-yes. That's right,” Megan finally muttered. _Well, at least I'm able to admit it._

Bruce averted his gaze for a minute. She had nearly convinced herself to ask him what he was thinking about when he said it of his own accord. “So you being in love with me has changed how you feel about your situation. A natural conclusion is this occurred because you want to have a child with me. Do you want that?”

“I... Well, yes.”

“And why is that?”

Megan blinked. “Well, I suppose it's because I think we could be good parents and because I'd like to have a child someday.”

“Are you sure you could handle having a kid at this point, given the relative chaos we went through a couple of months ago and our standing commitment to answer S.H.I.E.L.D.'s call when they need us?”

“It's not like I was thinking about having a baby _right now_! Of course we wouldn't be ready _now_!”

“And what about what I think?”

“I was naturally going to ask you! I literally just came to this realization on a conscious level, Bruce!”

Bruce paused, wrestling with his emotions. “Meg, I... I need to be frank with you.” _No, no, no, no, no, Banner! What the hell are you about to say?_

“Bruce?” Megan asked wide-eyed, pushing herself upright. _Oh please no._

He brought his gaze back to face her. “I love you, Megan.” _Oh good, I thought I was about to say something completely moronic, like:_ “But I'm not sure if I could consider being with you long-term until I speak with Betty again.” _Yeah. That. Damnit._

Megan said nothing, simply closing her eyes.

“Meg?”

“Take a car and go.”

“W-what? I didn't mean th—”

“No, but I do. Take the emergency credit card I gave you, get in my Saleen, and _go_. Don't call me until you've sorted this out.” When Bruce didn't move after several moments, she screamed at him, her eyes flying open, full of fury and hurt. “I SAID _LEAVE_!”

Bruce could only stare. She had wrenched her eyes shut once more, but it had done nothing to still the torrent of tears that had begun to spill anew, and she was now trembling. He knew that type of trembling. He had done it himself more times than he could count, back when he was first learning to control his anger. He silently stood and headed upstairs. Once he had packed some clothes in a bag, he made his way down to the basement. On his way, he glanced hopefully at the living room but she was still sitting on the couch, her eyes closed and body trembling violently. Defeated, he trudged down into the basement.

“Cancel my wake-up alarms, Jarvis,” Bruce called out once he'd reached the lab. “And please let Pepper know I need some time off.”

“Of course, sir,” the AI intoned with a tinge of regret.

Bruce retrieved the keys to Megan's Saleen S7, threw his bag into the back, and made his way out of the garage, already dialing the only person he knew the phone number of that could help reach Betty Ross with any expediency: Agent Hill.

When Megan heard the car pulling away, she finally relinquished her tight grip on her emotions. Without consciously thinking the action through, she stood and viciously kicked through the glass table in front of her with her left leg. The prosthetic was fine, but she had just inadvertently dealt herself damage. _That was Mom's table_ , she remembered as she stared down at the shattered pieces of clear glass and rose wood with her tear stained face. Unbidden, memories of the moments she'd shared with her mother at that table bubbled up to the forefront of her mind, inciting a sorrowful cry from her as she collapsed onto the couch once more.

_“You know, I know a few techniques that could help you manage that anger very effectively.”_

“Damnit, Bruce, get out of my head!” Megan screamed at the empty house.

_“I'm truly lucky to have you around to keep me from falling into her clutches.”_

She released a wordless, primal scream.

* * *

_“Megan, you know your father and I don't want you dating yet,” Maria Stark chided her daughter, her voice a whisper, after dragging Megan away from the boy who had approached her in the mall food court while Maria was in the restroom._

_“Mooooom, please stop doing this! You know I'm going to date_ eventually _, right?” the sixteen year old complained as they walked away. “I know it could be dangerous for me, but I'm not going to be a nun! I'm already attending college, for heaven's sake!”_

_Maria said nothing in reply. Instead, she found an exit, called Happy, and left the mall with her unhappy daughter in tow. When they got home, Megan attempted to storm up to her room, but stopped when her mother finally spoke. “Megan, come to the living room with me for a minute. If you're still mad with me afterwards, then you're free to go upstairs and vent.”_

_Megan fumed in response but followed her mother into the living room regardless, knowing that whatever punishment was in store for her would be worse if she didn't. Maria sat them down at the couch next to the glass table her own mother had passed down to her, and began to speak. “About what you said at the mall. I do know you'll date eventually, and you know that I know that. The thing is...” She paused to carefully choose her words, then pressed on. “Love is a double-edged sword. It's dangerous for everyone, not just you. When two people love each other, they can wield that sword together and cut through any opposition. But if you love someone else, offering them the handle of that sword... they may turn it back on you. The longer you hold that blade together, the stronger it will cut — for or against you.”_

_Megan stared. “That's... a rather depressing thought, Mom. Thanks for the warning, I guess?”_

_Maria fixed her daughter with a serious look. “Megan Alexia Stark, I am_ serious _. If your father came home today and announced that he didn't love me anymore, how do you think I would feel? It would break my heart because we have been through so much together — because together, we honed that blade.” She laid a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder before continuing. “I promise you, your sword will be twice as sharp. I hope you will find someone who's willing to bear it with you because together... Together, you will be invincible.”_

* * *

Megan sobbed, cradling her face with her hands. Tears escaped through the gaps between her fingers, falling from her face and landing upon the fragments at her feet. _She warned me. Mom warned me about this seven years ago. Bruce... Are you going to come back to me? Or are you going to drive that sword through my heart?_

* * *

**Friday, May 28th, 2004 @ 06:52p, PST | Stark Tech Demonstration**

“Oh Meg, honey, I am so sorry to hear that,” Pepper said after Megan gave her the abridged explanation of why Bruce was taking time off. Rhodes, who was at the presentation in his official capacity of government liaison to Stark Industries, said nothing, merely drawing her into a comforting hug.

 _Well, Howard, Maria. I guess this had to happen sooner or later_ , Rhodes thought as the young woman (Whose age was all the more apparent to Rhodes at that moment) gratefully accepted the hug.

“It's fine. Let's please not talk about it anymore. At least not until I'm done with this stupid presentation,” she replied. “I don't even know how I'm keeping it together right now. The less I think about it, the better; I still have to do the presentation.” She turned to the face the mirror on the wall of the green room and inspected her attire once more. She had ultimately decided to wear a short ruby red dress that was similar to one her mother had owned ( _Wasn't that the dress she always wore those pumps with? The ones I wore on my sixth birthday?_ ), hoping that she could channel her mother's strength and get through the demonstration without breaking down. She topped it all off with sheer, black pantyhose for her right leg; matching red pumps (These were, in fact, the same pumps from her sixth birthday. Her mother had found it endlessly amusing that they fit her daughter perfectly once she had grown up and given them to her, citing 'fate.'); and ruby stud earrings. Simple and straightforward. Her arc reactor and prosthetic were on full display, but that was intended. They would play into the presentation, and Megan didn't want to bother hiding them anymore, regardless. Naturally, she could not answer questions about why she had them, however, since that would reveal her part in her escape from the Ten Rings and the events of New Years Eve. She and S.H.I.E.L.D. had both agreed that should still be kept under wraps; she could be far more effective if potential threats didn't know that she had possession of her suits.

“Well, I love the hair,” Pepper replied, trying to change the subject. “The highlights are a modern, young look.”

In spite of her caged up emotions, Megan snorted. “Yeah, I'm feeling a bit young today.” _Because I still haven't grown up, it seems._

Pepper knew better than to respond to that, so she simply let her be and left to go make the final preparations for the brief introduction she'd be giving as CEO of the company. Rhodes gave her one last hug before waving goodbye and leaving to join the rest of the crowd in the second floor hall.

* * *

Ivan glanced at his watch. _It's time._ He began unbuttoning the top buttons of the blue jumpsuit he was wearing to hide in plain sight amongst the cleaning staff in the break room — and to hide his back mounted whips from sight — and stalked towards the elevator that would take him to the upper levels of the building. Once he reached it, he pressed the button to hail his chariot to blissful revenge.

“'Ey, new guy! Where ya goin'? We've still got three minutes on break, man!”

“Don't worry, buddy,” Ivan retorted as the doors to the elevator opened. “I'm just eager to get started.”

* * *

“And so, it is my pleasure to introduce the woman who will be demonstrating our latest technology tonight: Miss Megan Stark,” Pepper finished, gesturing in Megan's direction as said woman walked onto the stage, giving a brief wave and a plastered smile. More than a few of the audience members didn't bother to contain their laughter when Pepper said “woman,” but thankfully, they were mostly drowned out by the stereotypical applause and loud “whispers” that spread like wildfire through the crowd as people noticed her prosthetic and arc reactor.

Justin Hammer, CEO of Hammer Industries, watched with keen interest as the ex-CEO of his long-time competitor reached the center of the stage. _And here I thought Stark Industries would just sputter and die after that idiot decided to stop making weapons_ , Hammer thought. _I swear, if those are weapons, then I'm in deep shit. I was just barely staying afloat before; the last thing I need is for Stark to have some kind of triumphant return to the world of weapon dealers..._

“It's been a while since I was in front of you,” Megan began. “As you can see, I've been through some changes, but that is not why I am here today. No questions will be answered about _why_ these changes occurred, so please don't ask. What I _will_ talk about, is _what_ these are. Beginning with this.” She tapped the arc reactor in her sternum as a close up image of the technology appeared on the screen behind her. “Some of you may recognize this as miniaturized version of my father's arc reactor, which is currently housed at Stark Industries' Los Angeles branch. After this leap forward in technology, we at Stark Industries asked ourselves, 'We went small with the technology: Why not go big?' So we did.” A 3D blueprint of the future Stark Tower, the same one Bruce had been analyzing earlier that day, appeared on the screen. “As we speak, Stark Industries is obtaining building permits and preparing to construct this building in the heart of New York City, where it will be powered _entirely_ by an arc reactor. The initial prototype will power the building for a whole year, and that's just the prototype, ladies and gentlemen. This is Stark Industries' answer to the world's energy crisis. This is the bright future of world with _clean_ energy.”

Most of the audience began to applaud, even those among it who disliked her. Nobody could deny that Stark Industries had done the unthinkable. If this technology was viable, and Megan's reputation was certainly good in _that_ regard, then the company that had officially backed out of the world of weapon dealers would triumphantly take a step forward into a market the world sorely needed.

“Thank you, thank you,” Megan said in reply to the crowd's ecstatic response. _I honestly didn't think that would go so well. Just means I can get out of here sooner, I guess._ “The blueprint on the screen will be open for examination after the presentation is over. Just remember that everything's already patented, of course,” she noted, eliciting some laughter from the crowd. Once the noise had died down, she continued. “As for my prosthetic leg.” The blueprint was replaced with several close-up views of the prosthetic, all from different views. “This technology follows all commands I issue it through neural receivers that are implanted in nearby living tissue. Although the brain won't receive sensory input from the limb, it is nevertheless completely responsive to all instruction, and again, this is just a prototype.” She paused and gave the crowd a genuine smile, though few among it could tell the difference. “And after this leap forward in technology, we at Stark Industries asked ourselves, 'We have the technology: Why kept it to ourselves?'” An image of a model human appeared on the screen with prosthetic legs and arms. “Stark Industries is proud to announce that it will be offering what no other company ever has: Responsive limbs for those individuals who have lost their own. This is the bright future of a world where limbs can _truly_ be replaced.”

Once again, the crowd began to applaud, but it was short-lived. Metal whips crackling with electricity tore through one of the room's multiple pairs of metal doors like they were butter, leaving the fragments to tumble to the floor. The room fell deadly silent.

“Hello, Stark,” Ivan announced as he stepped into the room, whips in hand, as the upper half of his jumpsuit burned away under the intensity of the electricity coursing through the harness he had devised for his whips. “Today, you die.”

* * *

**Friday, May 28th, 2004 @ 10:03p, EST | Willowdale, Virginia**

Bruce solemnly watched the couple, Betty Ross and Leonard Samson, as they happily made their way home after a night on the town. His dark clothes allowed him to easily keep out of sight, though the baseball cap he was using to partially obscure his face would have kept Betty from recognizing him, even if she had looked directly at him.

“Have you seen enough, Hulk?”

Bruce's eye twitched. “Yes, I have. And honestly, just use my name. She can't hear you call me 'Dr. Banner' or 'Bruce' from here. It's weird for you to call me that while I'm not transformed.”

The blonde sharpshooter gave his temporary ward a wicked grin. “Ah, but that's half the fun! The other half is the name itself. Honestly, it still makes me laugh!” As if to prove his point, he quietly chuckled.

“I already explained it to you,” the neon green eyed brunette replied with a groan. “It describes my other half and memorializes the location I decided to accept that part of me. I swear, you're worse than a child.”

“You have to make your own humor in this line of work, Hulk,” Clint quipped as the pair strode in the opposite direction of the couple, who were already very far away. “So tell me. Is that really enough for you to be over her?”

Bruce smiled. “Yes, actually. There's no point yearning for what could have been when we've both already found other people that we're happy with.”

“Fair enough,” Clint replied evenly.

“And thank you again for bringing me out here. I know you didn't have to.”

“Hey, big guy, don't sweat it. Hill knows as well as anyone that you being emotionally stable is a good thing, so asking for a favor that would help you stay that way is a no brainer. Besides, the VTOL we've got flying overhead is close enough to snatch you up in seconds but still far enough up that nobody on the ground can hear it. Willowdale isn't _that_ far from the Atlantic. The immediate safety of anybody nearby isn't exactly in peril.”

 _'Big guy'... Ah, Clint. You're making me even more anxious to get home._ “Quite. I'm happy I was able to resolve my feelings about this so quickly. I wouldn't have gone to the tech demonstration regardless — safety hazard and whatnot — but tomorrow is Megan's birthday. I wouldn't want to miss it.”

Clint waggled his eyebrows. “I bet.” His companion groaned but didn't dignify him with a response.

The pair's earpieces flared to life. “Agent Barton, Dr. Banner. We've got a problem.”

* * *

**Friday, May 28th, 2004 @ 07:07p, PST | Stark Tech Demonstration**

The room immediately erupted with sound as its panicked occupants began scrambling over one another to reach the emergency exits. All thoughts of her sadness regarding Bruce and anxiety regarding the presentation evaporated from Megan's mind as she swiftly brought her hand up to her concealed earpiece. “Jarvis! I need you to get the portable suit to me. Can you launch it into the hall, or do I need to get down to the ground floor?”

“I'm on my way, ma'am. The hall has a skylight, and I can modify the launcher's trajectory enough to send the suit through it. ETA thirty seconds.”

 _Hopefully that will be quick enough_ , she thought as she watched Ivan approach at a leisurely pace, as if he knew she wouldn't run away. Two gunshots cut through the noise of the crowd, and the Russian collapsed to his knees with a cry of pain, blood splurting out of his calves. _What the hell? I thought everyone was checked for weapons before they entered? Not that I'm complaining..._ Megan scanned the crowd for the shooter and found Rhodes standing to Ivan's right a short distance away, his gun aimed at the man's head.

“Drop your weapons! Do it now!” Rhodes warned, his gun never wavering. Ivan glared balefully at him, but he released the handles of his whips, causing the electric current running through them to end as they snaked back up and into the harness on his back.

“Fifteen seconds, ma'am.”

“Do not shoot,” Ivan called out as he carefully raised his hands above his head in apparent surrender.

“Five seconds, ma'am.”

“Now take that thing off. _Slowly_.”

Ivan began to slowly shift his hands, as if to grasp the harness and lift it off, but in one swift movement, he thrust his head forward while simultaneously bringing his right hand thundering down. At the hand's peak, the whip shot out with electricity flaring to life once more. A bullet blazed through where his head had been less than a second before, leaving him unharmed. The whip itself wasn't long enough to reach its target, but the electricity that arched out did. Rhodes was blasted backwards at the same moment the portable suit crashed through the skylight and landed at Megan's feet, the twin hand grips that would initiate the armorizing process already out, waiting to be grabbed.

* * *

**Friday, May 28th, 2004 @ 10:08p, EST | Willowdale, Virginia**

“Wait, he's got _what_?!” Bruce asked stunned. “Pick us up. _Now_!”

“Do it,” Clint ordered, in case the pilot didn't take Bruce's command seriously. He locked eyes with Bruce, who had already begun a breathing exercise to keep himself collected. “So we’re clear, you know we won't make it in time to do anything, right?”

His companion's neon green eyes narrowed darkly. “I can't say that I care.”

Clint’s eyes never left Bruce’s as the VTOL that had been shadowing them from above swooped down in a flurry of noise and gusts. “Well, I'll be _damned_ if _I'm_ going to stand between you and her when I don't have orders to do so. Let's fly.”

* * *

**Friday, May 28th, 2004 @ 07:08p, PST | Stark Tech Demonstration**

Megan didn't hesitate for a second. In one swift movement, she snatched the hand grips, lifted the armor so it was directly in front of her, and thrust her arms to their respective sides, snapping the armor against her chest. While Ivan was still focused on Rhodey, the suit began to assemble itself around her, beginning with her arms and upper torso, then snaking its way down her legs. _I am_ so _glad I wore a dress with a high hemline._

“Oh my god, look at Stark!” one of the people who had yet to escape the room shouted in amazement before realizing their blunder.

 _Shit!_ Megan internally cried as Ivan whipped his head around in a heartbeat, saw the nearly assembled armor, and promptly began to stumble on his wounded legs towards her, unable to hit her from so far away. Another gunshot resounded through the room when Rhodes, who was miraculously still conscious, released a shaky shot at Ivan. The Russian roared in agony as the bullet intended for his head missed and shot through his right shoulder instead, leaving the arm limp. Rhodes tried to steady his arms enough for another shot, but Ivan had gotten close enough to Megan that he might hit her if he shot now. He suspected it wouldn't phase her while she was in the suit, but he wasn't willing to take that chance. His gun arm collapsed to the floor together with his torso as he redirected his remaining energy to controlling his breathing enough to get oxygen without further agitating his wounded chest.

Finally close enough to strike, Ivan made a vicious downward swing with his left whip, but Megan blocked with her right forearm just before the whip could connect with her still unarmored head. As her faceplate snapped into place, the suit's red eye slits coming to life, she raised her left hand and hastily fired her repulsor at his chest. Megan watched with wide eyes, however, as he quickly turned his body enough to bring his right side to the front and her blast was neutralized by the electricity in the wires running the length of his right arm.

 _What the hell is he using to power this thing?_ Megan wondered as her eyes narrowed on the protrusion from the front of his harness, but she couldn't tell what it was while he had it turned away. She glanced at her HUD and assessed the damage to her forearm. While the electricity would eventually cut through the portable suit's weakened armor if she allowed the strand to stay wound around the exoskeleton, she wasn't in immediate danger of losing another limb. _Right then. There's an easy way to get up close and personal with that power source._ She stepped forward and to the right, purposefully grabbing the whip with her left hand. Twisting around over and over, she swiftly approached Ivan, coiling the whip around herself like it was a simple piece of rope. Once Ivan saw what she was doing, he released his grip on the whip's handle, which killed the electricity in it and initiated the winding mechanism in his harness. As the harness effectively reeled Megan in like a fish, he grasped his right the hand grip with his left hand, causing the other whip to spring out once more.

 _Not today!_ Megan shoved off the ground with her left foot, twisting her body up and into the air, and allowed her boot repulsors to blast her forward. The added momentum worked, and she blazed by Ivan before he could snap the other whip down at her. She killed the repulsors and, as her feet struck the ground once more, she swung her attacker back first into the wall of the room with a sickening crunch. _It's over!_  she internally cheered as his battered body slid to the floor together with the shattered remnants of the back mounted harness. The electricity in the whips finally cut off altogether, and she unwound herself and approached her fallen foe.

“He's still breathing, but he's unconscious, ma'am,” Jarvis alerted her as she reached him.

Megan glanced over at her heavily injured and harshly breathing friend. “That's not good enough.” She knelt down to seize Ivan's head and snap his neck, but before she laid hands on him, she heard the sound of clapping. _What the..._ She turned to locate the source of the noise and found that, despite the danger, several people had remained and watched the fight. One of them was holding a shoulder-mounted camera with a TV's logo emblazoned on it. She froze. She had forgotten that the tech demonstration was being broadcasted live. _Had they just televised her donning the armor? And more importantly... I nearly killed a man on live TV. Holy shit, that's disaster narrowly averted._ She turned back to Ivan and continued her previous movement but instead moved to check his pulse. _There. That way what I did before won't look as suspicious._ Before she stood, she inspected the power source on his chest and was less than pleased at what she found. _An arc reactor? But... But how? Okay, Megan — prioritize here. You need to get Rhodey to an ER!_ She yanked the reactor from its socket in Ivan's harness, crushed and discarded it, then promptly dashed to her friend, scooped him up, and flew out of the hall through the skylight's recently acquired hole.

As she flew away, she idly mumbled, “At least it still had a palladium core.”

* * *

**Friday, May 28th, 2004 @ 09:16, PST | UCLA Medical Center, Los Angeles**

Unable to help himself, Bruce dashed through the door leading from the hospital's helipad and down the stairs to the fourth floor, where the S.H.I.E.L.D. comm had said Rhodey was moved after preliminary treatment in the ER. _That's where Meg will be._ What he hadn't expected, however, was the huge, nigh impenetrable crowd on said floor.

“Excuse me!” he said as he tried to push his way through the crowd. “I need to get through!”

“You can wait in line to see Stark like the rest of us, buddy!” the lady next to him growled before pushing him back. Bruce nearly mirrored her actions but caught himself and took a deep, calming breath before engaging some of his anger management techniques. They wouldn't quell the anger in him (Nothing stopped the anger festering in him anymore.), but they _would_ help keep it at bay. _Now is not the time, Hulk. I'm just as pissed off as you, but transforming now will only make this situation worse, and you_ know _it._

“Well, you seem to have hit a wall there, Doc. Literally,” Clint commented when he caught up to Bruce with his much more sedate pace. “Want some help parting the red sea?”

Bruce glanced at the sharpshooter. “That would be appreciated, yes.”

“Ooh, you even got all formal about it. Well, I suppose I will too.” Clint withdrew a badge that identified him as law enforcement. “Special forces here! Please make a path! Yes, you sir, with the mullet. I applaud your callback to the days of yore, but I need you to step aside.” Slowly but surely, the crowd parted enough for Clint, his increasing ridiculous comments, and the now bemused Bruce to pass.

Once they eventually reached their destination and showed the hospital security Clint's credentials ( _Special forces indeed_ , Bruce thought.), they entered Rhodes' room where they found Megan silently watching over her unconscious friend, her battered suit stored in its suitcase form and laying on the ground next to her.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she icily inquired upon noticing the duo at the door.

“Woooah. And that's my cue to leave. Good luck, champ,” Clint replied before exiting the room as quickly as he'd entered it.

“Sorry if I'm bothering you,” Bruce softly answered once the sharpshooter had left. “I can leave.”

She sighed. “I just... It's been a hell of a day, Bruce, and I don't think I can handle talking to you when you haven't sorted out... _that_ business.”

“Err... I have, actually,” he replied. When she gave him a look of utter disbelief, he hastily added, “Really! I have, I swear!”

In spite of herself, she snorted. “You swear?” The pair blissfully descended into laughter for a minute at the revival of their old in-joke, but before long, the somber atmosphere descended upon the room once more.

“So you've already sorted it out, hm? And how is that, pray tell?”

“Well, to be honest, I called S.H.I.E.L.D. Hill, specifically, since she was the only agent whose number I had. I knew I'd have to see Betty in order to sort out how I felt, but Virginia is a _really_ long drive from California. Also, I figured S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't exactly be pleased with you sending me out without an escort.” Megan paled realizing that, in her anger, she had completely forgotten about that. “Don't worry! I told them you insisted on it. Anyway, Hill decided that keeping me emotionally stable was high enough priority to send out a VTOL and escort right away.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay, but you caught up to Betty and talked through everything with her _that quickly_? That's... impressive, if true.” She fixed him with a look. “It's also highly implausible.”

“You're right,” Bruce replied. “That's not what happened. It only took us a little bit to find her when we got there ("Honestly, it was more than a little scary how quickly the agents found her location."), and when we did, I... Well, I sort of just watched her.”

Megan was less than impressed. “You 'sort of just watched her,'” she parroted back incredulously.

“Yes, but let me explain!” he quickly said before her mood could deteriorate further. “You see, she was with somebody else, and I just had to be sure that she was _with_ him. But I was right: He was her new boyfriend, and she was happy with him.”

“Please tell me there's more to your explanation than that because at the moment, it sounds like the only person who's really sorted out their feelings is _her_.”

He chuckled weakly. “I promise, Meg. That's all I needed to see. I'm not going to worry about 'what ifs' when she and I are already both with people that make us happy. You can ask Hawkeye — I told him the same thing when he didn't believe me either.” After she continued to stare at him in disbelief for several more minutes, he began to panic. _Is there some better way I can assure her I'm telling the truth? Or is she bothered that I was able to get over somebody so easily? Or maybe s—_

“So you weren't lying before?” Megan finally asked, her eyes beginning to shimmer. “You... You really love me?”

Bruce blinked, caught off guard. “Of course? Wait, so you thought I was lying?”

She flushed brilliantly, matching the shade of her highlights. “Of _course_ I thought you were lying! You immediately followed that statement up with 'but I'm not sure if I could consider being with you long-term until I speak with Betty again!' What the _fuck_ was I supposed to think?!”

 _I totally didn't think of that._ He palmed his face while muttering, “I am such an idiot.”

“Yes,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Yes, you are. That has to be the _worst_ confession of love anyone has _ever_ given, Bruce.” She began to snicker. “ _Ever_!” Unable to stop herself, she burst into a fit of giggles. His own face began to develop a flush, eventually matching the hue of hers, which had yet to die down.

“Yes, well, even if it was the worst confession of love ever, it was still an honest one,” Bruce eventually replied. “I just didn't want to consider marriage or children until I was assured that I had _only_ you on my mind. It wouldn't have been fair to you, otherwise.”

Megan blinked. “Wait, I think I've missed something. When did marriage become a point of contention?”

 _Oh good lord. You are really failing at this tonight, Banner._ “Well the thought, err, came to mind when you first began crying after the whole 'Stark Tower is...' Look, I'm not going to say it again, but you know what I'm talking about. Anyway, it just occurred to me that since you were upset about _that_ , you might also be thinking about _other_ long-term plans.”

“So what you're telling me,” she summarized, “is the entire argument was one huge misunderstanding on your end about what I was upset about.”

“Hey!” he replied indignantly. “It wasn't _all_ a huge misunderstanding! I got the part about having a baby with me right!”

“Well, yes and no. I was upset about being infertile, yes, but you only figured into the issue because it had hit me on a _subconscious_ level that I could never have a child with you, if we decided to have one together. On a _conscious_ level, I was _not_ planning out us having a child _or_ us getting married, Bruce.”

Bruce could only stare. “I, err... I'm sorry then?”

Megan gave him a brilliant smile. “Accepted. And now that we've both admitted that we love each other, regardless of how shittily we did so, your pearl demands a kiss!”

He gave an internal sigh of relief as his lips quirked up at her obvious acceptance of his pet name for her. “You don't have to tell me twice.” He happily closed the distance between them, but before they could kiss:

“You two need to get a room. And I don't mean this one. It's occupied,” Rhodey suddenly chimed in, scaring the duo, who had been unaware that he had regained consciousness.

“Holy shit, Rhodey!” she cried out while clutching at her arc reactor. “I swear you nearly made my heart stop! Give a girl some warning next time, yeah?” She took a deep, calming breath, then asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Good enough, all things considered,” he retorted. “And since I know you won't ask the _other_ question you're dying to ask, I'll just answer it for you: The. _Whole_. Thing.”

The pair of superheroes could only stare. “R-right,” she eventually stammered out. “In that case, we'll just, uh, go let the doctor know you're up.”

“Mhm, whatever you say, Meg. But before you go, two things. One: I don't want to hear about you two jumpin' one another's bones in the middle of the hospital. Get a room. Seriously. Two: I am so fucking sold on that suit. You've gotta hook me up.”

Megan gave him a wicked grin. “Woah now, Rhodey! You just got admitted to the hospital after being hit by a whip. I was kidnapped and had a hole blown in my chest, but I still escaped and _didn't_ go to a hospital. I'm not sure your poor, fragile body couldn't handle the stress. You've gotta walk before you can fly, buddy!”

“Oh, I know you did not just pull that on me, Meg! Where's my love at?”

She grabbed her portable suit with one hand and Bruce with the other and fled for the door. “Buh-bye, Rhodey! I'll tell the doctors to check you for _whip_ lash!”

* * *

**Friday, May 28th, 2004 @ 08:01, PST | Justin Hammer's Residence**

“No, I _don't_ care what it takes,” Hammer shouted into his phone. “Did you see him? I need him. Make it happen.” With a firm click, Hammer hung up on his aid, his orders given. He swiveled in his desk chair to stare out the window up at the stars. _Things are finally going my way. Stark reveals she's been working on weapons after all, but there's already somebody who can go toe to toe with that new weapon? He's the inventive talent I need. With him on my side, Hammer Industries will be unstoppable! I'll have government defense contracts coming out the wazoo! This time, you'll lose Stark. You think you can just sneak your way back into the world of weapons? Just wait until Senator Stern catches wind of this. Hammer grinned maniacally. Yes. Things are finally going my way. I'll be a greater merchant of death than Stark ever was._


	9. Chapter Eight: The Coming Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_“No, I_ don't  _care what it takes,” Hammer shouted into his phone. “Did you see him? I need him. Make it happen.” With a firm click, Hammer hung up on his aid, his orders given. He swiveled in his desk chair to stare out the window up at the stars._ Things are finally going my way. Stark reveals she's been working on weapons after all, but there's already somebody who can go toe to toe with that new weapon? He's the inventive talent I need. With him on my side, Hammer Industries will be unstoppable! I'll have government defense contracts coming out the wazoo! This time, you'll lose Stark. You think you can just sneak your way back into the world of weapons? Just wait until Senator Stern catches wind of this. _Hammer grinned maniacally._ Yes. Things are finally going my way. I'll be a greater merchant of death than Stark ever was.

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Chapter Eight: The Coming Storm_

“So the rule of military operations is not to count on opponents not coming, but to rely on having ways of dealing with them; not to count on opponents not attacking, but to rely on having what cannot be attacked.”

Sun Tzu

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 09:06a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

Megan yawned as she pulled herself out of dreamland and back into the real world. She glanced at her side as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, fully expecting Bruce to have already made his way downstairs. She blinked. There, still sleeping peacefully, was the man she loved.

“Err... Jarvis? What time is it?” she sleepily inquired, suspecting she may, in fact, still be in a dream. _Yesterday certainly still feels like one..._ The sound of her voice caused one of Bruce's eyes to crack open a sliver.

“Good morning, Miss Stark. The time is 09:06a, and it is your birthday. Many happy returns, ma'am,” Jarvis intoned as Bruce slowly pushed himself upright as his own eyes slowly began to acclimate to the light.

“Thanks, Jarvis,” she idly replied before turning her focus to Bruce. “I totally woke up before you, for once! Win!”

He groaned. “We went to bed at four in the morning, Meg. Why _are_ you up?”

“Probably because you got me back in the swing of waking up after three or four hours of sleep,” she cheerfully, and unrepentantly, quipped with a smirk.

“Yes, I suppose that's true,” Bruce replied with a chuckle. “Well happy birthday, my pearl.”

Megan purred. “And where's my birthday surprise, hmm?”

“In my old room.”

“Bruce, I was kidding, you know,” she said in disbelief. “You didn't have to get me anything!”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I know. But you never said I _couldn't_. And I _do_ have a job, so it was my money.”

Megan laughed. “Touché. So, since we're going for old school romantic gestures, are you going to carry me down to breakfast?”

“I'd be happy to treat you like a princess,” he murmured with a smile.

Her cheeks lightly dusted, she retorted, “Actually, I'm more like a knight in shining armor, what with my suit and all. Somebody has to show the guys how it's done, and I'm the gal for the job.”

“And what does that make me? Am I a prince? I certainly can't think of a male equivalent for 'damsel in distress.’”

“Fear not, my partner against crime! You can still be the mighty green dragon that I tamed with naught but my charm and wit!”

Bruce burst into laughter. “Yes,” he managed to choke out. “That! Let’s go with that!”

Megan hooked her arm in his, a brilliant smile on her lips. “Well then, my handsome wyrm, shall we make haste to the tavern for a breakfast fit for kings?”

“Aye, milady Pearl,” Bruce he replied. “We shall.”

* * *

“Ma'am, Philly is on the line. Shall I put him through?” Jarvis inquired in the midst of the couple's “breakfast fit for kings”: Two bowls of cheerios and accompanying glasses of orange juice.

“Philly? Who on earth?” Bruce pondered aloud, causing Megan to nearly snort into her cereal.

“Please tell me you addressed him as 'Philly' when you answered, Jarvis,” she replied, giggling.

“That _is_ what you programmed me to call him, yes, ma'am.”

“Priiiiiceless. Put him through.” She paused, giving her AI a moment to do the task before continuing. “Philly, darling! How are you?”

“Philly?” Bruce mouthed at her, a confused look still on his face.

“Happy birthday, Megan, and I could be better. I wish I had better news, but we need to handle the aftermath of yesterday.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. He and Rhodey helped me escape the press conference when it went to hell,” she whispered to Bruce, who nodded in understanding, before she raised her voice to speak to Phil once more. “Ooh, sounds like a date, Philly. Give a girl a ride?”

“I'm afraid not. Busy at the office. Besides, I wouldn't want to upset your beau.”

Megan blushed at the moniker. _Really? Now S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are teasing me about my love life? I can die happy... Ugh._ “Let me guess: Bird boy told you? And yes, I suppose my darling green giant _might_ have been inclined to smash you. I suppose I'll handle my own ride, but just this one time, darling.”

“Smashing,” Phil quipped, eliciting another burst of giggles from her. “I'm confident you'll get the invitation soon. See you there, Megan,” he finished before hanging up.

“There's someone at the door for you, ma'am,” Jarvis intoned the moment the call ended.

The duo turned to stare at each other. “That's really good timing,” she muttered as she took stock of what she was wearing. _Bra, panties, and a negligee. Totally not door-answering attire._ Bruce, who was clad in only a pair of boxers and a t-shirt he had thrown on before they came down for breakfast, was likewise not ready for social calls. “Tell whoever it is that they're going to have to wait five minutes.”

“Of course, ma'am.”

“So,” Bruce began as the duo abandoned their half-finished breakfast in order to go change, “why exactly were you acting so flirty on the phone?”

Megan giggled. “Don't be jealous, Bruce, honestly! It's just a silly game I got into back around the time I built the Mark II and III.”

He quirked an eyebrow but did chuckle. “Only you would call a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent 'Philly.'”

* * *

“Megan Stark, you've been served.”

Megan stared at the piece of paper that had been thrust into her hands. “Err... Okay.” She opened the paper and briefly scanned it to figure out what on earth she was being served for. ' _You are hereby ordered to appear at the May 29th, 04:00p emergency session of the U.S. Senate Armed Forces Committee hearing to testify regarding your possession and use of a weapon at the Stark Industries Technology Demonstration on May 28th. Address follows._ ' She gave the blonde carrier a look. “Really?”

The woman shrugged. “I just serve 'em, and my job is done. Have a good day.”

“Well then,” Megan murmured as the lady hopped into her car and drove off. “I guess we're bound for D.C., Bruce.”

Bruce frowned. “No, I'll stay here. 'Philly' seemed to imply that he was only expecting you, and it's likely this event will be packed with people. Not exactly a great idea for me to be there. I mean, can you imagine the look on Fury's face if I hulked out on Capitol Hill?”

“You should stick to 'Phil,' my wyrm (Bruce internally groaned at her new pet name for him. _At least the one_ I _use for her is the meaning of her name!_ ),” she replied, giggling. “And you do have a point...” She grinned as an idea occurred to her. “Well, my secret's clearly out, so as long as I'm flying out alone, I'll fly in _style_.”

Bruce groaned. “Please tell me you don't mean...”

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 12:35p, PST | California State Prison, Los Angeles County**

Ivan wished his revenge had gone better, or at least more according to his plan, but he had achieved results. _I could not kill Stark, but I injured_ its _friend and forced_ it _to reveal_ its _secrets. Now,_ its _own country will tear them from it_ _. I could not end the Stark line, but I made its heir bleed._ It _thinks_ itself _a god, but gods do not bleed._

Ivan was drawn from his inner musings by a clank as the guard on duty placed a tray of food in the slot in the middle of his cell's barred door. The man said nothing, only giving the Russian a meaningful look before departing. Ivan slowly pulled himself to his feet, wobbled towards the door, grabbed the tray with his left hand, and took it back to the cot he had been sitting upon. Once there, he anxiously picked up the steaming cup of coffee, eager to wash away the foul taste of the water he could get from within the cell. He greedily drank from the cup, and his eyes widened when he noticed the coffee had been hiding a note. Curiosity overcoming thirst, he set the cup aside and opened the note.

_Enjoy the potatoes?_

His eyes darted to the mashed potatoes on his plate and widened once more. _These are not potatoes._ He grasped the white putty in his hand, his suspicions confirmed when his fingers did not slip straight into it. He picked the blob up to inspect it, and when he turned it over, he found his mound of “potatoes” was in fact a bomb with a timer preset to twenty seconds and a red, depressible button. The door to the cell opened, and a man was shoved in and struck on the back of the head with a baton before it closed. The man collapsed to the ground unconscious, and Ivan frowned as he noticed he looked somewhat similar to himself. He abandoned the tray of food altogether and approached the fallen man, the bomb still gripped in his left hand. He rolled the man's body over with his foot, and checked the ID number tagged on his jumpsuit's left breast pocket: 6219.

 _And my number is..._ Ivan glanced down at his own jumpsuit. _6219._ Ivan smiled darkly as the key to his cell was suddenly deposited in the same slot the food tray had been. _It seems I will get a chance at a better revenge._

Ivan plastered the bomb against the wall to free his hand, then snatched the key, awkwardly reached through the slot with his only good arm, and eventually unlocked his cell door. The door now open, he depressed the red button on the bomb, watched with grim satisfaction as the timer began to count down. He stumbled out of the cell.

“Hey, you!” a guard in the hall called out. “Where the hell is your escort?”

“Do not worry, buddy. He is inspecting cell,” Ivan replied.

The guard's eyes narrowed as he stalked towards the open cell door. “I swear to god, is that you, Ramirez? How many fucking times do I have to tell you to follow procedure...” Ivan forced his wounded legs into a sprint as the guard froze at the cell door. “What the fu—”

The cell exploded in a ball of fire, engulfing the guard and the nearby cells and throwing Ivan to the floor. Before he could pull himself off the ground, a bag was pulled over his face and two pairs of arms nearly lifted him from the ground entirely. After a hectic minute of being forcibly dragged and unable to see what was happening, Ivan was roughly shoved into a seated position before the sound of slamming metal doors resounded in his ears. An engine turned over as a gruff voice spoke swiftly and curtly. “The bag stays on, and you say nothing.”

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 03:57p, EST | Capitol Hill**

“Philly! Are you really so anxious to see me?” Megan said as she answered his phone call.

“Hello, Megan. I admit that I'm a bit anxious, yes, since the meeting starts in three minutes, and you are nowhere to be found,” Phil answered while standing at the exterior entrance to the meeting hall and scanning the crowd for any sight of the genius mechanic.

“You know, I've never purposefully made a big entrance, so I decided that, just this once, I'd like to make one.”

“A big entrance?” he replied with trepidation. A black and gold blur slammed into the ground in front causing the nearby pedestrians to cry out and Phil to groan. “You _didn't_.”

The armored woman drew herself up to her full height as the suit's faceplate snapped up. “Oh, I _totally_ did,” she retorted with a grin. She thrust her arms out to her sides as her suit began to extract itself from her body, quickly retracting into a suitcase in front of her chest. Once the armor was entirely extracted from her, she scissored her arms inwards until they extended directly out from her chest and set the case down on the ground, allowing the hand grips to be drawn into it. Megan adjusted her charcoal, white-pinstripe suit and red blouse, which allowed her arc reactor to just barely peak out over it, as nearly everyone who saw the spectacle began to cheer. Her business suit no longer ruffled from travel in her armor, she retrieved the suitcase and strode forwards towards the doors into the hall. “Coming?”

“Why did you think it was a good idea to bring that, much less _arrive_ in it?” the now somewhat flustered Phil asked once he'd caught up to Megan and matched her pace.

“I would think it's obvious, Phil,” she replied as the pair stepped into the hall. “I was attacked less than a day ago at an event with security comparable to this hearing, so bringing the suit as protection is natural. Besides which, the suit is the subject of the session, so they might wish to see it.”

 _At least she's speaking professionally. I suppose beggars can't be choosers._ “You have a meeting with Fury after this hearing. We'll _drive_ there.”

Megan smirked at his blatant jab. “Fine, fine. Now then: Time to face the music.”

Word of Megan's method of travel had already reached security via radio by the time the pair reached the security screening area. Thankfully, Phil had high enough security clearance to command the officers there to let Megan pass with the suitcase, and they passed through after a brief moment of heated discussion between Phil and the chief of security.

* * *

“Oh, they invited you to the party too, Pepper?” Megan jovially asked upon finding Pepper seated at the table set up before the committee.

Pepper, who was relieved that Megan made it to the hearing on time, drew her friend in for a quick hug. “I'm the CEO of Stark Industries, Meg. Of _course_ they wanted me here.” Her eyes turned to Phil. “I know we've seen each other in passing, but I don't believe we've formally met, Mister...?”

“Agent Coulson,” Phil replied handing her one of his cards. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Potts. I'm here on behalf of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

“That... is quite a mouthful, Agent Coulson,” Pepper remarked as she examined the card.

“Honestly, Phil,” Megan laughed as the committee filed into their chairs. “It's so obvious that somebody was trying _really_ hard to make the acronym 'S.H.I.E.L.D.,' so you might as well honor their effort. Besides, it's so much easier on the ears.”

“This meeting will come to order,” Senator Stern called out, banging his gavel. Once the volume of the crowd had faded to nothing, he continued. “Miss Stark, Miss Potts. The committee thanks you for your presence today. As he has not been called before this committee, I must ask the gentleman sitting with you to kindly find a seat with the rest of the crowd.”

“Good afternoon, Senator,” Phil replied. “My name is Agent Phil Coulson, and I am here on behalf of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. (“S.H.I.E.L.D.! I mean, really?” Megan mouthed soundlessly to Pepper, who managed to crack a smile in spite of the seriousness of the situation.) My organization informed you that I would be here today, as we have a vested interest in the matter before this committee.”

“I must have... missed your memo,” Stern responded. “Illuminate me, Agent Coulson. What is this vested interest?”

“The subject matter of the proceeding includes, in part, Agent Megan Stark's duties as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Megan blinked. _I guess I'm officially a part of the secret club. Huzzah?_

Stern was clearly less than thrilled, but he abandoned Phil, resigning himself to the agent's presence, and directed his ire at Pepper. “Miss Potts, please explain the purpose of the Stark Industries Tech Demonstration yesterday evening.”

Pepper cleared her throat and leaned forward to speak into the mic. “Exactly what the name indicates, sir. Stark Industries was showcasing the advancements in technology we have made in the past months and briefly discussing how that technology would factor into the future of the company.”

“And what advancements in technology was Miss Stark showcasing for the company?”

“The arc reactor powered Stark Tower, and her prosthetic leg.”

“I'm sorry, Miss Potts, but it seems you've forgotten one,” Stern replied with a fake smile.

“No sir,” Pepper retorted evenly. “Only those two inventions were being showcased.”

“I am referring, of course,” Stern said as if Pepper had not answered, “to the weapon Miss Stark has lying at her feet, which she used to nearly kill a man and insisted on bringing into this meeting.” Most of the crowd gasped at Stern's words and began to talk and crane their necks in order to get a look at the machine they had all seen on the news. Some abandoned social grace altogether and rose to their feet to get a better view. “Order!” he bellowed, banging his gavel. “Order!” The crowd grew somewhat quite once more, but it was obvious the multitudes of whispered conversations wouldn't end anytime soon. Satisfied with the volume level, the senator focused his attention on Megan. “Miss Stark, please explain to the committee what that suitcase at your feet is.”

Megan gave Stern a fake smile of her own. “It's clearly a high-tech prosthesis.”

Stern fumed, his face beginning to resemble a tomato, as several people in the crowd began to openly laugh. “So you disagree with defining it as a weapon?”

“Correct. As I said, it’s _clearly_ a high-tech prosthesis,” she retorted with hesitation, her fake smile never faltering.

“Then please explain to the committee, Miss Stark, why you used your 'prosthesis' to nearly kill a man yesterday evening at the Tech Demonstration!”

“If I may, Senator,” Phil smoothly interjected as Megan opened her mouth to reply. “It is Agent Stark's job as a member of S.H.I.E.L.D. to neutralize threats to the security of this nation using the 'high-tech prosthesis' in question. The suit is kept within an easily accessible range at all times due to security concerns. Although Agent Stark was off duty at the time of the Demonstration, the hitman who broke into the event was nevertheless a threat to everyone in attendance, and it was her duty to neutralize that threat. Your perception that Agent Stark was attempting to kill the hitman is a misconception; she was only preventing him from harming anyone.”

“But you admit then, Agent Coulson, that this so called 'prosthesis' can be used to harm people?” Stern asked with a triumphant expression on his face. “Surely then you would agree that it should be kept under government supervision in order to ensure the public's safety?”

“Absolutely, Senator,” the agent coolly retorted with a winning smile. “And it already is.”

Pepper stared at Phil like he'd grown a second head. Megan, however, barely managed to stifle a smirk. _Oh, Philly, you_ sly _dog._

“I beg your pardon, Agent Coulson?” Stern replied. “Please explain.”

“I already have, Senator. Agent Stark, as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., is naturally under the supervision of S.H.I.E.L.D., a government agency that ensures the public's safety.”

* * *

“Philly, that was great! I could kiss you!” Megan exclaimed with a wide smile once the duo had bid Pepper farewell and escaped the paparazzi via S.H.I.E.L.D. escort.

Phil smiled thinly. “Yes, well, you'll have to handle the meeting at the Triskelion alone. I have other matters to attend to when we get there.”

She tilted her head in confusion. “The Triskelion? Is that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secret base or something?”

“If it were a secret base, then it wouldn't be much of a secret. It takes up the entirety of Theodore Roosevelt Island.”

“That is really obvious,” Megan agreed with a chuckle. “So, you mentioned earlier that I have a meeting with Fury. Is he doing the debriefing for yesterday?”

Phil nodded. “Yes, but it's more than just a debriefing. It's also a mission _briefing_.”

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 05:04p, EST | The Triskelion**

“You’ll be meeting Director Fury in his office, Megan. Use that elevator over there,” Phil explained, pointing towards the closest lift. “Tell it you want the ‘Director’s Office.’ His secretary will greet you once you get up there.”

 _Tell it?_ Megan mused as her companion departed for a nearby room. _Must be voice controlled. Nifty. Good to hear they’re on the up and up._ She began to stride towards the elevator Phil had indicated and glanced around the very spacious lobby of S.H.I.E.L.D’s center of operations. The floors were made of a pristine, smooth rock that she suspected was granite ( _Pepper would know for sure. That’s more her cup of tea than mine._ ), and the lobby was full of people bustling to and fro. Some wore simple professional attire, while others wore the tell-tale dark jumpsuits of S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel. She sighed as those who saw her did a terrible job of concealing their whispers. She hoped the target of their focus was the black and red metal suitcase she was lugging along, but she was acutely aware that it was much more likely that they were whispering about her. _Here’s hoping it’s about me donning the suit at the tech demonstration, and not that I'm a transwoman..._

A brown-haired, fit man in a variation of the standard S.H.I.E.L.D. jumpsuit entered the elevator as she approached it, noticed her coming, and caught the door before it shut. “Thanks,” she said with a small smile as she set down the heavy suitcase, thankful for the brief reprieve. _So much easier to just wear the damn thing._

“No problem,” the man replied as he let the doors slide shut. He eyed her as he suddenly put a name to her face. “Where to, Stark?”

“Director’s Office,” she replied without commenting about his stare. At least he was being more subtle than the majority of the lobby’s occupants had been. He had clearly already given the machine his own destination, since he said nothing as the elevator began to rise at a reasonably brisk pace.

“Brock Rumlow,” the man suddenly said, thrusting a hand in her direction. Megan took a second to respond, taken aback by the unexpected action, but quickly recovered and grasped it with her own. “Megan Stark, though you already knew that. A pleasure,” she replied.

“Quite the show you made with that,” he said as they released the handshake, and he nodded towards the suitcase at her feet.

She chuckled dryly and managed a small smile. “So I hear,” she replied simply.

“It’s a good thing you had that in your back pocket,” he continued with a grin, “or I imagine your demonstration wouldn’t have had a happy ending. How’d the guy slip those whips past your security, anyway?”

“I’m not sure how much I’m at liberty to say,” she replied evasively. “There’s a reason I’m meeting Fury,” she finished, not bothering to hide that detail, since the destination she gave the elevator clearly indicated what she was doing at the Triskelion.

“Fair enough. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with the boss man,” Brock quipped. “Sorry for staring, by the way. It’s not every day someone like you comes to visit.”

She frowned. “‘Someone like me?’”

“Woah, chill,” he replied when he noticed her suddenly cold demeanor. “I was referring to your celebrity status. You keep yourself out of the public eye, but everybody still knows who you are. Celebrities and spy agencies don’t exactly mix that often.”

“Oh,” she replied, blushing lightly. “I, uh, thought you meant something different,” she finished somewhat lamely.

The elevator came to a stop as a smooth female voice announced, “Administration, level one.”

“Enjoy your visit to the Triskelion, Stark,” Brock said as the doors slid open and he stepped out.

“Real smooth, Megan. Why don’t you just get 'totally insecure' tattooed across your forehead while you're at it?” Megan grumbled to herself as the elevator doors slid shut, leaving her alone in the elevator. Soon after, the elevator came to a halt once more, and she was surprised to find a young, sharply dressed woman already waiting for her.

“Welcome, Miss Stark,” the lady greeted primly, and gestured towards a set of chairs. “Director Fury will be with you shortly. Please take a seat.” Megan nodded amicably and made her way towards the chairs without a word, not trusting herself to keep her foot out of her mouth just yet. She gracefully sat down and was pleased to find that the chairs were actually quite comfy. She withdrew her phone from her inner jacket pocket and promptly began to jot down her ever flowing river of ideas and amend older ones. Admittedly, one of the new ideas was voice command elevators at Stark Industries.

After a few minutes, the familiar voice of Nick Fury drawled from behind her. “Megan Stark. I hear you made quite the entrance at the Senate committee hearing this morning. I’m glad you decided to be a bit more low key for your visit here.”

“Phil insisted that we drive over,” she replied with a sheepish grin, stepping into Fury’s office as he gestured for her to enter. The corner office was roomy and practically furnished, and the entire external wall was floor to ceiling windows that had a great view over the Potomac River. _Okay, I have to admit. I’m a bit jealous of the_ awesome _view._ “So,” she said as Fury shut the door to the room, “Phil said you’re both debriefing _and_ briefing me.”

He made his way to his desk and chair, smoothly sat down, and leaned forward to place his elbows on the desk, his eye focused intently on her. “That’s right. Let’s start with your tech demonstration, beginning with the assailant’s entry.”

She nodded and dove right into her explanation. “The guy — Boris Turgenov, according to the staff; he masqueraded as a cleaning guy to get into the building — entered as I was finishing up the presentation part of the show, slicing through the doors with those whips.” Her eyes glazed over briefly. “Interesting design, but there are definite improvements he could’ve made. First, I would double the cyc—”

“Just an explanation of what happened for now, thank you,” Fury cut in.

Megan didn’t miss a beat, the glaze evaporating from her eyes in an instant. “Right. I imagine you saw it all on the news already, so I’ll be brief. Turgenov began to approach the stage, and I immediately told Jarvis to launch my mobile suit into the hall. In the meantime, Rhodey ("That’s Lt. Colonel James Rhodes. Nickname, sorry.") shot him twice, taking out his calves. He told Turgenov to take off his harness, but the guy ended up snapping a wave of electricity at him, knocking him to the floor. The suit landed at the same time, and I immediately armored up. Somebody in the crowd inadvertently ("I should hope.") called attention to me before the suit was on, but Rhodey bought me time by shooting him in the shoulder. With the armor finally on, I took him down. In the process, I began to suspect Turgenov was using an arc reactor, and I was able to confirm it after he was knocked out. I grabbed Rhodey and bolted for the ER, since he was in really rough shape.” She took a deep breath, before finishing with, “Is there anything you wanted more specific detail about?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “When you knelt down next to Turgenov, you looked like you were doing more than checking his pulse. Explain.”

To her credit, she managed to keep her groan internal, but nevertheless, she wasn’t thrilled that her actions hadn’t gone unnoticed. “The fact that you’re questioning my actions tells me that you already know, or at least strongly suspect, what I was going to do,” she replied after a moment of thought. “So let’s not beat around the bush. Is there a problem?”

He leaned back into his chair and steepled his fingers before him. “As you said, I 'strongly suspect' that you were going to snap Mr. Turgenov’s neck. Whether or not there’s a problem depends on the reasoning behind the action.”

 _Fair enough_ , she thought to herself, giving the director a nod. “Number one: This guy had just broken into a room full of people using electric whips that can cut through metal. When a uniformed member of the military told him to remove his weapon, he played along before striking him down. Hence, I concluded that he was a very dangerous man who would likely to take any chance to attack, should he be given one. Number two: He snuck his whips past the extensive security I had setup for the tech demonstration. Hence, I concluded he might be slippery enough to weasel his way out of custody, if I just let him be captured. Therefore, killing him ASAP was definitely a valid option, even if I didn’t consider the personal threat to my life.”

She paused for a moment before continuing. “That being said, there were also good reasons to let him live, even though I thought they didn’t outweigh the good reasons to kill. Number one: Killing isn't a default response and should only be considered as a last option.” If she was being honest with herself, she was beginning to not entirely agree with what she had just said, and that change in her psyche scared her. _When did I start to think that “kill first, questions later, if ever” was a good idea?_ Regardless, she didn't fancy the notion of admitting such a thing to him, so she filed the matter in her internal 'to think about' list for the moment. “Number two: There were, and still are, questions that we need answers to. Why was he trying to kill me? Why did he do it in such a public place? How did he build a miniaturized arc reactor? How did he successfully masquerade as a cleaning guy? Is his name really Boris Turgenov? Et cetera. Number three, killing him would land me in this very conversation.” She gave him a wry grin, which the stoic director didn't react to. “Anyway, the point is that there were reasons for and against killing him; I weighed them and made my call. At the time, I wasn't aware that members of the public were still watching, much less news reporters. The moment I realized that they _were_ watching, I stopped and played it off. Satisfied?”

“No,” Fury vehemently responded, catching Megan off-guard. “I understand what you did, and looking at the matter from your perspective, I understand the decision you made. However, as you may have noticed, I am not you, _Iron_ , and it's _my_ job to ensure that you do _yours_ right.”

She didn't bother hiding her disgust at the tone in his voice as he invoked her S.H.I.E.L.D. moniker. This was not Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., an agency she freelanced with. This was Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and her _boss_. It appalled her to think of anyone else as having such authority over her. Her parents had technically had total control of her life, but they had loved her and always thoroughly taken her feelings into consideration. She and Obadiah had a mentor/apprentice relationship that bordered on them being partners. And while it was true that Pepper was now technically her boss, it was mainly in name, since Megan still got away with pretty much whatever she wanted. None of these experiences had prepared her for being treated as an _underling_.

“I can't say I care for your tone, _Nick_ ,” she bit out. “You are _not_ my boss. I may do jobs for S.H.I.E.L.D., but I _never_ accepted your job offer.”

“Oh, am I _not_ your boss? See, you probably should've spoke up during the hearing earlier, since the public is now under the impression that I _am_ your boss,” Fury sardonically drawled.

“A technicality,” Megan retorted. “We both know that I'm quasi-freelance. I already told you, I don't want your money — I'm doing this because it has to be done.”

“Then you'll understand what I'm about to do, since 'it has to be done.' Iron, you are showing dangerous signs of unresolved issues. Your actions with Obadiah Stane were objectively justifiable, as you had orders and you followed them. In light of recent events, however, I see that they are part of a trend. You're possessive of your friends, and you'll blindly do whatever it takes to protect them: Stane put Pepper Potts' life in danger by putting her in the remote-controlled suit, and you killed him for it. General Ross came to take Bruce Banner away from you, and you tried to help him escape by car _while in your suit_ in order to help him escape, despite the danger that created for the general public. When the possibility of me taking Dr. Banner away from you came up, you lied to me, giving me whatever assurances you thought I wanted. You refused to leave Dr. Banner to fight the 'Abomination' alone, despite your clear need for medical attention. Boris Turgenov assaulted Lt. Colonel Rhodes, and instead of taking him into custody, you _ignored_ the objectively clear informational interest in leaving him alive in favor of snapping his neck _in full view of the public_ , whom you would have noticed had you not been so tunnel-visioned on killing him.” Fury leaned forward in his chair, his only uncovered eye filled with a dangerous glint. “I do _not_ care that you are 'quasi-freelance,' as you put it. I _do_ care that you have an obviously unconscious need to protect your friends regardless of the consequences. I _do_ care that the public is now under the impression that you are a S.H.I.E.L.D. employee. Is any of that unclear?”

Begrudgingly, she began to mull over what he had said, her gaze never leaving his as her eyes glazed over.

 _Memory-Me_ , rational-Megan said, _Setting aside the conclusions Fury interwove into that tirade, were any facts misrepresented or otherwise false?_

 _No_ , the mental construct immediately replied.

_Even the part about us being “tunnel-visioned” on killing Turgenov?_

_“Tunnel-visioned” is a conclusion, not fact. I can, however, provide you with the relevant facts for your assessment, Rational-Me. When we reached our fallen assailant, whose paperwork identifies him as Boris Turgenov, Jarvis informed us the man still breathing but unconscious. We glanced at Lt. Colonel James Rhodes, noted his heavy injuries and harsh breathing, and Real-Me replied, “That's not good enough.” We proceeded to kneel down in preparation for snapping Turgenov's neck but the sound of clapping stopped us before we laid our hands on him._

_Oh_ , rational-Megan lamely replied, taken aback. _That... Does sound an awful lot like we decided to kill him because he hurt Rhodey... Emotional-Me, how were we feeling at the time?_

 _BURNING WITH HATRED!_ the remaining voice ferociously replied, catching the other two off guard. _Did you see what he did to Rhodey? No, of course you didn't! You were too busy playing “judge,” weighing the scales of “justice” to decide how to act. I just added a bit of weight to the “kill” option_ , emotional-Megan finished, projecting an image of a twisted smile.

_What the fuck?! You know full well that real-Me does not want to be ruled by you. She chose me. How long have you been dicking around with my calculations?_

Emotional-Megan kept silent.

 _I see_ , rational-Megan finally said. _I think it's fair to deem that as an admission of guilt. So Fury is right then. You were tainting our rationality. Memory-Me, were you aware this was occurring on the occasions Fury mentioned?_

_Yes._

_Why didn't you say anything? Didn't we do this sort of thing once already?_

_That was in relation to whether you remember events correctly (And remembering events is my job, thank you very much!), not emotional-Me tampering with your activities._

_Well now it's also your job to police me. If emotional-Me bends my reasoning again, then report it immediately. Is that understood?_

_Yes._

Megan's eyes lost their glaze as she returned from her inner musings. Fury's eye was still leveled at her. “Crystal clear, Director. And you were right. I just took an internal inventory of my thoughts at the time, and I was unknowingly allowing my emotions to affect my rationality. I'm not sure how it slipped my attention before, but now that I'm aware of it, I won't let it happen again,” she replied, breaking the silence.

“I appreciate your candor, but I'm afraid that's not good enough at this point, Iron. I'm assigning an agent to watch over you. Is that going to be a problem?”

She frowned. “I won't lie: On an emotional level, I don't appreciate the distrust, but on a rational level, I understand that you have solid reasons for that distrust. So no, it won't be a problem. I just have three questions: Who, for how long, and do you want this person to stay in my home?”

“Is that an offer, Iron?”

“I'm not going to be serving them lavish, seven course meals or anything like that, but I will give them a place to stay, if it would make you more comfortable. My questions, please.”

Fury's gaze finally softened somewhat. “Hawkeye, until this problem is resolved, and yes, I would prefer that he stay with you.”

“Then it won't be a problem. Tell him he gets Bruce's old room and that we've had sex on every inch of it. Total disclosure and all that rot.”

“Good. I will... let him know,” he managed to reply with a straight face.

“So does that conclude the debriefing part?” Megan said as she glanced at her phone to check the time. “I'm a very busy woman, and I'm sure you are too. Well, except for the woman part. Unless there's something you've been wanting to tell me?”

He didn't bother to contain his chuckle this time. “That concludes the debrief, and I assure you I am male in all senses of the word.”

Megan shrugged nonchalantly with a wry grin and mischievous eyes. “Hey, just remember I'm totally available as a consultant on such matters. So. Mission?”

“Mission,” Fury replied simply as he passed her a tablet covered with information and several images of people she recognized.

“Justin Hammer and Boris Turgenov?”

“At 12:36p PST, shortly before you arrived at the hearing, an explosion occurred in the prison wing Boris Turgenov was being held in while we were preparing to have him transferred to our own facility. Naturally, we investigated immediately. We determined that the blast originated in Turgenov's cell. There were several bodies, all heavily damaged, but we found a body approximately Turgenov's size. Its location matched our estimates of where someone in his cell would be after the blast. What little remains of the body's clothing indicates the person was wearing the standard prison uniform that Turgenov had been wearing. The teeth, while damaged, but they match the dental records.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You wouldn't be rattling all of that off unless you thought it wasn't really him. DNA not a match?”

“Correct,” he replied with a nod. “Someone went to an awful of trouble to convince us it was him. Thankfully, they weren't aware that we took a sample as a precaution once he was taken into custody. Conveniently, the security camera system failed a mere minute beforehand, so we spoke with the staff, beginning with those scheduled to be in that portion of the prison at that time. We convinced them it would be in their 'best interest' to cooperate, and several of them admitted to being paid by Justin Hammer to participate in a scheme to fake Turgenov's death and get him to his facility. Based on the staff's description of the vehicle, we tracked it to a Hammer Industries building in Nevada.” He produced another, laid it upon his desk, and tapped an image of the building, producing a holographic duplicate. “You and Agent Barton will be infiltrating this building and retrieving Turgenov. This is a _stealth_ training mission for you. You may use your suit only if you are seen _and_ it is necessary.”

Her other eyebrow rose to meet its twin. “Wait, you're turning a real life mission into a _training exercise_? If you really want this to be stealthy, you should send in Natasha. I'll go to S.H.I.E.L.D. stealth boot camp or wherever your people learn that sort of thing.”

“Agent Romanoff is occupied, and while stealth is ideal, there's a very real possibility that Turgenov will build another set of whips. You've already handled him once, so you are an ideal partner for this mission. You'll just have to learn on the fly; no 'boot camp' for you, I'm afraid.”

“Fair enough. Is Hawkeye still in California, and does he have all this info?”

“Yes.”

Megan glanced at the room's windows and noted that, despite being their massive size, they could be opened. “The longer we wait, the more likely it is that we're going to be tangling with whips. Send me his number, for future reference. I'll meet him on site.” Without waiting for a reply, she stood and walked towards one of the windows away from Fury's desk, her suitcase in hand.

“Stark, use the _front door_.”

“The longer we wait,” Megan replied in a sing song voice as she opened the window and began to don her suit.

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 12:48p, PST | Hammer Industries, Nevada Site – Justin Hammer's Office**

“So you got him out? … Excellent. You'll get the rest of your payment once you get him here. Don't get pulled over or do anything else that would fuck this up.” Hammer hung up and swiveled around in his chair to face the room's only other occupant. “Everything's going according to plan, my Leader.”

Samuel Sterns chuckled dryly. “Of course it is. I thought of everything.” He stood from his own chair and moved towards the wall made entirely of glass. Beyond the panes, the factory's many employees were working tirelessly on the tasks their Leader had assigned them. Hammer was a vain man and, thinking himself above his employees, had always enjoyed watching his employees through the glass as they toiled below. Gazing down upon them from up high, knowing he controlled their financial security, he had felt like a god. But Justin Hammer was no god.

 _Now, a true god is gazing upon them._ It had been a simple matter to spread his control to Hammer's employees once he had Hammer himself within his mental control. All it took was a touch for them to become Sterns', and with the CEO issuing the orders, the deed had been done swiftly. Sterns turned his eyes to look down once more at his hands and their pale green flesh, same color that had spread across the rest of his skin. Truly, the power held within them was a marvel he had dreamed of his whole life. He lifted his eyes once more and turned his engorged head to face Hammer. “S.H.I.E.L.D. will undoubtedly discover that man is being brought here. A security agency of their caliber will have taken precautions to ensure they could identify such a valuable target. Our decoy will only buy us time.”

Hammer smiled widely. “I am not worried, sir. You will think of something. Everything has been perfect since you deigned to touch my lowly self.”

Sterns' lips twisted into a dark grin. “My touch has that effect, worm. And I need not think of something, for I already have. Am I not your Leader?” _Yes, S.H.I.E.L.D. will come, and so will Stark and Banner. They will come looking for a fight, and I will not give them one. By the time they arrive, it will be too late to stop me._

“Oh yes, sir!” Hammer exclaimed, his face radiating pure, unfiltered joy.

“Good. Then here is what I want you to do...”


	10. Interlude One: Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

**Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
 _Interlude One: Pressure_

“There is no such thing as talent. There is pressure.”

Alfred Adler

* * *

**Wednesday, September 4th, 1996 @ 01:27p, EST | Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 77 Massachusetts Avenue, Cambridge, MA 02139**

Megan Stark stared out the window of her father’s sedan, her eyes glazed over as she watched the scenery blur by. _This is so ridiculous_ , she thought to herself. _Why can’t all of the classes be online? I took a whole year’s worth of classes — including the summer semester! — online. But nooooo, this one professor just wouldn’t bend… And why couldn’t Mom and Dad just let me get an apartment? Flying me out here every Monday and Wednesday for one class is ludicrous!_

The petulant sixteen-year-old diverted her eyes from the passing scenery to gaze at the back of her father’s head as he drove. “Are you sure I can’t convince you?”

Her mother, Maria Stark, answered in lieu of Howard, twisting around in her seat to fix her onyx eyes on her daughter. “Yes, Megan. Our minds are made up. We’re just not comfortable with you living on your own yet.”

Megan groaned, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Just like dating. I _will_ live on my own someday.”

“And when that happens, you’ll wish we were there, honey. Trust me,” Maria retorted with a motherly, knowing smile.

Before Megan could continue to express her disdain, Howard chimed in, announcing, “We’re here, gang.”

Megan diverted her eyes from Maria to gaze in wonder out the window at the structure before her. MIT — her school. She drank in the sight, unable to help herself. She had seen plenty of pictures of the institute, but this was the first time she had actually visited it. The quad was gorgeous with its well-kept grass and lush foliage, and the massive, U-shaped building encompassing it was as well.

 _So this is where my “classmates” took those classes._ She imagined herself walking through one of the entrances of the institute and shivered slightly as butterflies filled her stomach and her adrenaline began to rush.

“I-I’ll see you when I get home,” Megan murmured as she opened her door and twisted on the car seat to slip her capri covered legs out of the car and set her red and white striped flats on the paved sidewalk.

“Hey now. Hold on a minute, Meg. Before you go, I just wanted to rem—” Howard began to say.

“Daaaaaaad,” Megan cut in indignantly, whipping her head back to face her father. “Honestly, I remember! Happy will be here by the end of the class to pick me up, since he’s my escort to and from class from now on. If any boys try to flirt with me like the ones on TV do, I’m supposed to turn them down because you feel I’m ‘not ready to date yet.’ If any of them try to force the issue, I should use the mace Mom gave me.”

“Don’t cut me off, young lady,” Howard replied, fixing his frustrated daughter with a look. “And actually, I was going to say: Before you go, I just wanted to remind you that we love you, and we couldn’t be more proud of you.”

“Oh,” Megan said as a brilliant flush began to grow on her cheeks. “I-I’m sorry…” She averted her eyes for a moment, embarrassed.

Howard smiled and reached back to lay a gentle hand on her head, ruffling her messy, pixie cut black hair. “Apology accepted. Now, you better go find your way to class. You don’t want to be late on your first day!” Maria looked on with a smile of her own.

Megan managed to summon a weak smile. “Okay,” she replied as she began to move out of the car once more. Before she got out, however, she paused then turned back to face her parents. “I love you too, Daddy, Momma.” Before she could lose her nerve, she slid out of the car and began to jog along the memorized path to her only on-campus class for the semester.

The parents watched their only daughter as she rushed off, their pride and joy in her evident. Eventually, Maria turned to face her husband and asked, “So, where would you like to go while we wait to surprise her?”

Howard chuckled as he shifted the car into gear. “How about we take a tour of the town? Even though Meg is taking almost online courses, it’s still where our daughter is going to college.”

“I’m glad you were able to put off work for long enough for us to both drop her off _and_ pick her up from her first, in-person class.”

“You and me both. Here’s hoping it’s uneventful and we can all just enjoy her milestone together.”

* * *

-tap- -tap -tap-

“Ruckerson, Emily.”

“Here.”

-tap- -tap- -tap-

“Stanford, Michael.”

“Here.”

-tap- -tap- -tap-

The young man sitting next to Megan, gave her a look of annoyance as she continued to tap her pen against the desk. She had been doing so when he had arrived and had continued to do so, all the while maintaining an air of boredom. He had briefly entertained the idea of introducing himself to the cute girl, but had held off because she appeared to be under eighteen and because he was experienced enough to know when a girl was telling him, “Not interested — leave me alone.”

“Stark, Megan,” the gray-haired professor said as he continued down his list.

The classroom broke into murmurs immediately. “Did he say ‘Stark’?” “Wait, _the_ Megan Stark?” “Where is she? I want to see her!”

Megan’s pen, meanwhile, had clattered to the desk as her fingers went numb and her practiced look of boredom broke, revealing that she was actually barely controlling her panic. “P-p-present!” she half yelled half squeaked as she shot her hand up into the air — the first person to do so.

“Ah, yes… Ms. _Stark_ ,” the somewhat aged professor drawled with a frown. “It’s only fitting that the student with the highest GPA in the entire institute attend at least _one_ class with the other students.” His eyes rose from the roll call and fixated upon her with a coldly calculating look. “I daresay it will be rather difficult for you to rely on your father while you’re away from him, no?”

The professor’s obvious implication made most of the class gasp although some snickered. Megan said nothing, both because she had suspected this might happen and because she didn’t trust herself to speak while her heart still felt like it was in her throat. Instead, she took a calming breath, trying to push past her fear. It was difficult. This was the first time she had been in such a public setting without one of her inner circle with her, _and_ it was her first in-person college class.

The professor abandoned his roll call sheet on the podium and stepped past it, his eyes locked onto Megan. “Let’s have a small, pre-semester exam. Enlighten us, Ms. Stark, about…”

* * *

“Then the energy pulse gives the system a simultaneously positive and negative charge, which allows the generation of the ‘Stark Chart’ I discovered. Sorry, but I’ve never been very... err,  _inventive_ with names for what I invent, heh.” Megan turned away from the whiteboard, which she had covered nearly completely with diagrams and formulae, and found that the professor was still following her impromptu lecture with rapt attention while the class had mostly retained their goggle-eyed expressions. The surge of adrenaline that had coursed through her once she’d been thrust into her bailiwick, science, had begun to die down as she concluded her explanation of her discovery of ‘Stark Charts.’ Slowly, but surely, the distress she had felt at the beginning of the class began to creep under her skin once more. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to try and retain her emotional control, but the professor beat her to the punch.

“Do you think there’s any way you could… eh, go over that again?”

The boy she had been sitting next to had raised his hand but went unnoticed by the professor, whose eyes were still gazing lovingly over the whiteboard, but Megan saw him. “Err, yes? Um… You?” she said, awkwardly pointing at the raised hand of her would-be neighbor.

“Class is over, _Professor_ Stark,” he drawled out with a quirky grin.

“Oh,” Megan simply replied. “I, err…” She returned her gaze to the class’ actual professor and inquired, “May we leave, Professor?”

“Hm?” the older man initially replied as she drew his attention away from his musings. “Oh, yes, yes, yes. Class!” He turned to face Megan’s classmates then continued, “I expect a two page report on Ms. Stark’s discussion of Stark Charts submitted to me via email before our next class begins. Double-spaced, twelve-point Times New Roman, one inch margins all around. Check your syllabus for my contact information. And Miss Stark?” He turned back to face the now fidgeting genius. “You can skip the homework assignment. In fact, I think we’re still early enough in the semester to make you my teaching assistant. Interested?”

Megan blinked, caught completely off guard.

* * *

“And so what did you tell him?” Howard replied, with no small amount of humor, as Megan finished recounting how her first class had gone while they drove back to Logan International Airport.

“I said 'yes,'” Megan said as she began to flush. “I wasn’t going to at first, since I’m _still_ really getting over how scary it all was, but… If I have to attend class in person anyway, then I figured I could, you know, try to get better at being… social.”

Maria laughed outright before replying, “Yes, but I imagine it will be a trial by fire, honey.”

“Well, yeah,” her daughter retorted, “But it would make the class an efficient use of my time. The only thing that would have been more efficient was bringing my laptop to class and working on my usual projects, but that wouldn’t really help me with my social skills, and I could just do that at home. This was a _unique_ opportunity.”

Howard and Maria chuckled for a moment before Howard replied, “And that is why you’re our favorite daughter.”

Megan groaned. “Dad, I’m your _only_ daughter.”

“A win by default is still a win, Meg.”

“I love you too.”


	11. Chapter Nine: Mind in Chains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_Hammer smiled widely. “I am not worried, sir. You will think of something. Everything has been perfect since you deigned to touch my lowly self.”_

_Sterns' lips twisted into a dark grin. “My touch has that effect, worm. And I need not think of something, for I already have. Am I not your Leader?”_ Yes, S.H.I.E.L.D. will come, and so will Stark and Banner. They will come looking for a fight, and I will not give them one. By the time they arrive, it will be too late to stop me.

_“Oh yes, sir!” Hammer exclaimed, his face radiating pure, unfiltered joy._

_“Good. Then here is what I want you to do...”_

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Chapter Nine: Mind in Chains_

“You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind.”

Mahatma Gandhi

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 05:26p, EST | En Route from The Triskelion to Hammer Industries, Nevada Site**

“Jarvis,” Megan called out while she cruised through the skies, “I need the Audi en route to Hammer Industries’ Nevada Site. Bring all the backup power cells for the suit we’ve got ready and the emergency food and water bundle we prepped, and a metal arm that can load the suit into the launcher. I’m definitely going to get there before you do, and I’ll have to leave the suit for you to grab.”

“Right away, ma’am,” Jarvis immediately replied. “Quickest possible route will require using your personal jet, which I’m putting out the call to ready now. I estimate I can have the Audi there in two hours. Should I tell Dr. Banner anything?”

“No. I want to speak to him personally — patch me through.” She waited a moment before continuing. “Bruce? Are you there?”

“Megan!” Bruce replied in a somewhat harried voice. “I saw the hearing on the news. Is S.H.I.E.L.D. really going to take all the responsibility? Make you an Agent… just like that?”

“Bit of a long story at the mo’. Suffice to say: Yes and yes, but we’re going be hosting a long-term sleepover with Agent Barton until, err, Fury decides I’m not going to snap people’s necks all willy nilly and what not.”

There was a pause on the other end. “I… see,” Bruce eventually responded. “Setting aside the result, I’d actually appreciate an explanation for why you _did_ almost do that?”

“I fucked up, Bruce. Big time, and unfortunately, I’m not sure how long I’ve been doing it. I used to have my emotions firmly _under_ my control… firmly under the importance of making rational decisions. Fury got me to take a hard look at what I was thinking when I almost killed Turgenov, and I realized that somehow — at some point — I lost that control. It _hopefully_ shouldn’t happen again, now that I’m aware and watching out for it, but I’m worried that I could somehow revert. I’ve already done it once.”

“You say you lost control. How do you mean? What were you thinking at the time?”

“I was thinking about how he’d nearly killed Rhodey. And I… I subconsciously wanted to punish him for it,” Megan reluctantly admitted, her loss of control still a sore spot.

“So you were wrestling with anger then. Meg, you _know_ I can hel—”

“Bruce,” Megan interrupted, “now is not the time. I’m currently on assignment and need to get in touch with Barton.”

Bruce took a moment to breathe deeply and calm himself, then replied, “Fair enough. Just don’t forget, okay? Now fill me in. What do I need to do?”

“Nothing. Fury just wants Hawkeye and me on it. Oh, and bonus: I’m apparently going to be learning how to be sneaky instead of just busting in with my suit. Tooooons of fun.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit around and hope for the best? I could help, Meg.”

“You’re not blaming me, are you? It wasn’t my decision. I know it’ll be rough, but I suspect Fury would only want to use you when outright force is necessary. But since we’re focusing on _avoiding_ conflict…”

Bruce sighed. When he spoke again, his tone was one of resignation. “Just let me know what you can, when you can, okay?”

“Of course, Bruce,” Megan replied, her tone somewhat softer. “I’ve got to go. I need to call Hawkeye. I love you.”

“You too, Pearl.”

Megan ended the call, awash with a strong mix of emotions. “Well, at least I’m aware of it, this time… Jarvis, get me Barton.”

After a couple seconds of dial tone, Clint’s voice filled her helmet. “Iron. What’s your ETA?”

“I’m pushing the suit to its max speed. I’ll be there in about an hour. You?”

“A bit longer than that: an hour and fifteen minutes. Heading out by VTOL. Are you ready for this?”

“Hey now,” Megan replied with mock indignation. “Are you suggesting I wouldn’t be?”

Clint chuckled. “Be honest. Stealth is _not_ your specialty, and we have a mission to complete. This is going to be a trial by fire.”

“Ha! No worries. That’s how iron is forged. Here’s what I’m thinking: When I get there, I out scope the place from a _stealthy_ distance. I’m willing to bet the suit’s too bulky for me to be all stealthy while carrying it, so once you get there, I leave the suit for Jarvis to pick up. He’ll swap the power cells and load it into the launcher in case of an emergency. That means I’ll be without the suit for about forty-five minutes. Think you’re a good enough teacher to keep me from fucking up without it for that long?”

“O’ ye of little faith. Solid plan, rookie.”

“Oh, I know you didn’t. Do _not_ call me rookie.”

Clint laughed outright before retorting, “See you there, _rookie_ ,” and hanging up.

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 02:36p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

Bruce stared blankly at the book laying in his lap, unable to focus on any of the pages’ words. Ordinarily, he loved reading — especially anything with a focus on science. Books, magazines, scholarly journals… They all worked. But it had been nearly ten minutes since Megan had called, and he hadn’t been able to focus on any of the words sense then. _It’s not my anger_ , Bruce noted as he took a mental inventory of how he was feeling. Of course, that particular tempest was still present in his mind, but it didn’t feel any different than it had before she had called. _So what is it then? Am I worried about her, since I’m not supposed to be there? She can handle herself just fine. Even if I hadn’t known that before, she definitely proved it at the Tech Demonstration. So am I feeling protective of her and wanting to go help anyway? That would likely make everything worse, if I’m being honest with myself. I could accidentally throw off the mission and put people in danger… put Megan in a tight spot with Fury._ Bruce stole a glance at his book to see if the words had become any clearer to him. They had not. _What is it then?_

 _I fear that may be my fault, Dr. Banner_ , a voice suddenly said in Bruce’s mind. A voice that was definitely not his.

“Dr. Banner?” Jarvis’ voice intoned throughout the living room, catching Bruce’s attention. “There’s a cab from Los Angeles pulling into the driveway, sir. And one of the occupants has an extraordinarily large, head and… Well, he’s green,” he finished somewhat lamely.

 _That is me, Bruce_ , the voice from before said. _Please do not be alarmed. I may look different than before, but I assure you I am Dr. Samuel Sterns. Though maybe you best remember me as Mr. Blue?_

Bruce’s eyes widened dramatically. “It’s… I think it’s Samuel Sterns, Jarvis. At least, that’s what the voice in my head is saying. God, listen to me! ‘Voice in my head?’ I really am going insane aren’t I?"

 _Not insane, Bruce_ , the voice retorted. It truly is me. _My speaking to you like this… Something has happened to me. I need your help with it._

“I’m going to check it out,” Bruce announced to Jarvis after he had taken a moment to deliberate on what to do. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but if something really _has_ happened to Sterns, then… He helped me before. I have to see if I can help him in return.”

“If you say so, sir…” Jarvis acknowledged, obviously hesitant, as Bruce abandoned his book and began to make his way towards the front door. When he reached it, he only hesitated for a moment before opening the door.

Standing there on the door step, just waiting for the door to open, was the mutated form of Samuel Sterns. “Hello, Bruce,” the Leader said the moment he locked eyes with his target. “Something happened to me back in NYC. I believe it was the introduction of some of your blood — which I replicated to help you with your problem — into my mouth during the events of this past New Year's Eve.” He held up a picture — it was his NYU faculty photo. “I know we have never met in person, but I have a picture of my original self, if it helps you see that I am who I claim to be.”

Bruce stared at the green man before him and the picture he was holding up, barely able to see the resemblance but nevertheless unable to deny it. “Forgive me,” he finally replied. “This is just a bit… extraordinary.”

“No forgiveness necessary. It was much the same for me when you first explained your problem all those years ago.” He stuck out his hand in invitation for a handshake. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I hope we can work together to find a solution.”

Bruce cast his eyes down to gaze upon the green hand waiting to shake his own. _Fair is fair. He tried to help me with my problem, I should do the same._ He grasped the Leader’s hand.

The Leader smiled and gestured towards the taxi, where the driver was blankly staring forward. The confused Bruce tried to ask what Sterns was suggesting, but, to his surprise, his body silently nodded and began to make its way towards the vehicle. Panicking at the sudden hijacking of his body, Bruce internally began to fight for control, but it was futile. Together with the Leader, he entered the taxi.

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 05:39p, EST | En Route from The Triskelion to Hammer Industries, Nevada Site**

“Ma’am, Dr. Banner is leaving the premises with Dr. Sterns,” Jarvis announced to Megan.

“Sterns?” she replied, racking her brain for where she knew the name. “That professor who was helping him back before NYC? Mr. Blue, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, the same.”

“Why is Sterns there, Jarvis? Did Bruce say why he’s leaving?”

“Dr. Sterns was mutated at some point, and he had come to request Bruce’s help with curing him,” Jarvis replied as he brought up images in her HUD for her to compare: The one Sterns had been holding, and an image of him captured by one of her security cameras. “Dr. Banner seemed to imply he could hear Dr. Sterns in his head and went to the front door to meet him. They discussed why he had come — to get Dr. Banner’s help, as I said before — and left after they shook hands. Neither spoke after they shook hands. Dr. Banner just left with him.”

Megan frowned as she looked at the image in her HUD. “That sounds really odd. Call him, Jarvis.”

The phone had barely begun to ring when Bruce answered his phone. “Meg! I was just about to call you.”

“Bruce,” she replied, her voice laced with worry. “Jarvis just told me about Sterns. What are you going? You shouldn’t be out without me. What if you hurt someone?”

“Don’t worry, Pearl. You know I have better control than Fury gives me credit for. We’re just heading out to Sterns’ lab nearby, where he’s been researching a cure for himself since NYC. I’ll be okay — I swear it.”

“I…” Megan murmured hesitantly. She didn’t like the idea of him heading out, but she knew there was nothing she could do to keep him at home. _He can take care of himself._ “I can’t say I’m happy about it, but I trust you. Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

“You too. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Call Fury, Jarvis,” Megan said after Bruce hung up. “I may trust Bruce, but I need to keep spy boy in the loop.”

“This is Fury,” the director said as he answered her call. “You haven’t already reached Hammer Industries, Iron, so why are you calling?”

After she explained what had transpired, she concluded, saying, “I figured you would want to know.”

“Dr. Banner may be showing progress in his control, but I still want a detail on him. You said they left in a taxi. What’s the number?”

Without her needing to ask, Jarvis brought up an image of the taxi in her HUD. “It’s 6027.” She paused for a moment, then said, “You’ll let me know if something’s wrong.” It wasn’t a question.

“I will,” Fury acquiesced, “but keep your mind focused on your mission, Iron. We’ll worry about what’s going on with this Dr. Sterns afterwards. I have still have unanswered questions from the New Year’s Eve 2003 incident.”

“Understood, Director. Iron Woman out.”

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 03:29p, PST | Hammer Industries, Nevada Site**

The Iron Woman hovered high in the air about a mile away from the factory, its red eyes fixated on the building. “Well, we’re here,” Megan murmured as she zoomed in as far as her optics would allow and began to survey the workers as the bustled about. Although she could see them from this distance, what she saw wasn’t very clear. “Jarvis, can we detect the security cameras from here?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m highlighting them on your HUD now.”

“Excellent. If possible, throw in estimates for their line of sight. Also, keep an eye out for anything that could spot me at distance. Telescopes, binoculars — anything. I’m moving in for a closer look.”

“Consider it done.”

About a dozen fields of light appeared on her zoomed in HUD, indicating the building’s security cameras. It appeared there was nothing that worked long-distance, so she restored her HUD to normal eyesight levels and with a burst from her thrusters began to fly towards the factory. She found a rock outcropping about three-quarters of a mile away from the building, landed on it to provide additional balance and conserve what remained of her power cells, and zoomed in once more. This time, she could see the workers much more clearly.

 _Well, I don’t see Turgenov anywhere, but to be honest, he would likely be indoors, so seeing him from here was a long shot. There’s a helipad, but no helicopter. The workers are… Wait, what the fuck?_ “Jarvis, get me Hawkeye.”

“We’ll be there in about nine minutes. What are you seeing, Iron?” Clint said immediately upon answering his phone.

“Some crazy shit, Hawkeye,” Megan replied, her voice clearly expressing that she was disturbed. “The workers are all carrying military-grade weaponry and have bombs strapped to their chests.”

There was silence at the other end of the line for a moment. “You’ve got to be kidding. They know we’re coming, and they’re prepared to  _kamikazi_? What the hell is going on in that factory?”

“My thoughts exactly. Something is seriously amiss. We’re talking about Justin Hammer’s employees. He isn’t charismatic by a long shot, so it’s not loyalty. The price for someone to willingly commit suicide has got to be astronomical. Is he really paying them _that much_?”

“What about Turgenov? Any sign of him?”

“Not from here. I’ll circle the factory and keep my eyes peeled, but I seriously doubt he would be outside. Indoors is likely the ideal work conditions, and besides which, this guy’s passport said he was Russian, so the heat of the outdoors would likely be killer to him.”

“All right, good work. Stay out of sight. See you in eight minutes.”

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 03:11p, PST | Los Angeles International Airport, the tarmac**

As the taxi parked next to the waiting plane, the Leader and Bruce stepped out and began to board it. _Foolish S.H.I.E.L.D._ , the Leader thought to himself as he reached the top of the boarding stairs. _Sending only one agent to follow Banner just made everything easier. She tells you Banner and I are at my lab, but we’re actually on our way to add Stark to my collection._ Once he had entered the plane, a mind-controlled employee decked with weapons and a bomb like his counterparts in Nevada approached him.

“The helicopter is ready for us at LAS, my Leader,” the man said.

The Leader did not bother to address his peon and instead turned into the first compartment, which ordinarily would have been used as a meeting room. The conference table was still present, but Ivan Vanko was its only occupant. Littered across the table were swaths of electronic parts and tools, all of which were encompassing a pair of whips attached to a harness.

“When will your whips be ready, my soldier?” the Leader inquired as his eyes closely examined his handiwork.

“I am half done, my Leader,” Ivan responded. “They will be done in approximately one hour.”

“Do not fail me,” the Leader commanded before moving through the room into the next compartment, which contained a desk intended for Hammer’s use while traveling.

Bruce, who had followed the Leader like a silent sentinel, spoke up as the green man took a seat in the rooted office chair behind the desk. “How may I serve, my Leader?”

“The recordings of your fight in NYC show you transforming after hitting the ground at terminal velocity.” His blue eyes turned to gaze at Bruce’s own, neon green orbs. “If you are dropped from a helicopter at height when we reach the facility, you will transform, yes?”

“That is correct.”

“When we reach Las Vegas, you will come with me and Vanko in the helicopter, my pet. You will remain there until I command you to leap from the helicopter and attack. Do not kill Stark; she too is to become my pet. Do not fail me.”

Bruce shivered, or he would have had he had control over his own body. _He called Turgenov… Vanko his soldier, but he calls Megan and me his ‘pets’? What is this fucker going to do to us? I have to stop him! I will_ not _allow this!_ Bruce’s right hand briefly twitched, as if it wanted to flex but quit as soon as it had begun. The Leader missed seeing it, however, as he had already closed his eyes and begun to review the scenarios for the upcoming confrontation.

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 03:43p, PST | Hammer Industries, Nevada Site**

Megan landed together with the S.H.I.E.L.D. VTOL and began to shed her armor as Clint disembarked, his recurve bow in hand and a quiver of arrows strung across his back. “I’m ready when you are, Hawkeye. I’m anxious to get to the bottom of this.”

“Well curb that anxiety,” Clint replied as Megan’s suit finished the process of reverting to a suitcase. “If you get tunnelvisioned on the goal, then you’re liable to mess up trying to reach it.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the VTOL. There’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform in there along with a pistol and an earpiece communicator. Suit up.”

Megan left the suitcase laying on the sandy ground for Jarvis to pick up when he arrived and strode forward towards Clint and the VTOL. As she passed Clint, she handed him her phone. “Take a look at that. I had Jarvis create a 3D map of the place, complete with locations of security cameras and the complete, but approximate, field of vision of their rotation. I’m already familiar with it.”

Clint’s eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. “Maybe you won’t be such a bad apprentice after all, rookie.”

“Don’t be surprised; I’m awesome incarnate,” she retorted with a humor laced voice as she entered the VTOL. “Also, if you’re going to keep calling me that, then I reserve the right to call you a ridiculous mentor nickname.” She glanced at the pilot in the front seat. “Peek, and I assure you you’ll live to regret it.” The pilot formally saluted her, which caught her completely off guard, before he turned to face forwards.

“Alas, I think you’ll find there’s a shortage of them,” Clint quipped.

“How about Obi-Wan? I think you could pull off the old and white-haired look.”

Clint laughed outright. “Not so much. I’m much more suited to the younger Obi-Wan in Episode II.”

“Ah, but if you’re _that_ Obi-Wan, and I’m your _apprentice_ , then that puts me in the role of Anakin Skywalker, who we all know betrays him and becomes Vader.”

“Yeah, but I would get the better deal in the long run. Obi-Wan isn’t killed until he’s much older, but early on, Anakin gets fucked up so bad he has to wear a special suit to stay alive.”

Fully dressed in one of the dark suits she was used to seeing Natasha wear and studiously ignoring the image her imagination conjured up of herself in a version of her armor similar to Vader's, Megan stepped out of the VTOL and walked over to stand by Clint. “True. Anakin’s going to seriously get pwned in Episode III. I’m looking forward to seeing it. Here’s hoping it's better than that dreadful bore Episode II.”

Clint blinked. “’Pwned?’ What the hell does ‘pwned’ mean?”

Megan stared at Clint before palming her forehead and releasing a mock sigh of exasperation. “I guess you’re not a videogamer. Damn shame. It’s just slang for ‘owned.’ Gamers use it to insult people they beat.”

“Let’s focus on the mission,” Clint replied, bringing Megan’s focus back to the task at hand as he returned her cell phone, which he had already put on silent. “The security camera coverage is lighter on the north end of the factory, which I presume is why you told us to meet you on this side. Depending on how fast you can run, we’ve got between a six and eight minute run to get there. For now, let’s start walking.” Once the duo had begun striding towards the building, Clint continued. “First, let’s check our communicators. Finding out they don’t work after you’ve split up can be a death sentence.” He lifted his finger to his communicator and said, “Testing.”

“You’re coming through fine here,” Megan said as she tapped her communicator.

“Same here. Now, remember, our priority here is stealth, but you’ve got a pistol in case shit hits the fan. Do you know how to use one of those?”

Megan grimaced. “I can tell from looking at it what parts do what, but I’ve never shot a gun before, no; just held them for demonstrations back in the day.”

“Well, this is all a trial by fire anyway,” Clint said with a frown. “I suppose the fire just got a couple degrees hotter is all. Lesson number one: The most important parts of stealth are noise and field of vision. Stay quiet and out of sight, even if you’re just barely so, and you’ll do all right. You’re going to have an easier time today without your armor, but you’ve still got a, pardon the choice of words, handicap where you’re left leg is concerned. Your design is quiet, all things considered, but it’s still a bit noisier than the average human leg.”

“Right,” Megan said with a wince at Clint’s reference to her leg. She pulled out her phone and held down a button on the side. “Jarvis, add ‘stealth leg prosthetic’ to my to-do list.” She glanced at Clint as she released the button and asked, “Anything else, Obi-Wan?”

“Just one thing, rookie.” He turned to face her with an expression of utter disgust. “Every inch?”

“No, no,” Megan replied with a giggle. “I just wanted to see the look on your face. If you’d like that, though…”

Clint brandished his bow as he retorted, “Do it, and I’ll string you to the wall upside down until you beg for mercy.”

Megan quirked an eyebrow. “‘Until I beg for mercy’? Careful, Hawkeye, or you’ll make Bruce _green_ with envy.”

Clint groaned and gestured towards the factory. Without another word, the duo broke into a steady jog towards the facility.

* * *

Megan watched Clint with a keen eye as he swiftly, yet silently, darted from the cover where they had been hiding to another altogether. “Your turn,” Clint murmured through the communicator. “Wait for the camera to swing back to the left, then go. Remember there’s a guard within hearing distance but facing away.”

Not bothering to reply, she locked her eyes onto the security camera in question and waited. As it approached the end point of its swing back to the left, she took a deep breath in order to keep herself steady. The moment it reached the return point, she propelled herself into motion and strode as silently as possible to the location where Clint was waiting.

“Acceptable,” Clint acknowledged without her saying a word upon her arrival. “I would have heard you, but these guys are low caliber.” Megan held back the small twinge of hurt that accompanied her brief, tiny swell of pride, but Clint had already diverted his attention to look at the guard nearby.

After a minute of complete silence and no movement from him, Megan finally whispered, “Hawkeye? Is something wrong?”

Without diverting his gaze from the guard, he softly replied, “Just a hunch right now, but I think these guards aren’t normally guards. I think they’re actually regular employees. I noticed awhile back that none of them were wearing uniforms, but I disregarded it as unimportant overall. But the more I look at them, I think these people were just pulled from their work before being strapped to a bomb and handed a gun.”

Megan frowned. “But their patrol patterns… They’re perfect. Endlessly repeating. Would production line workers really be so exact?”

“Wait, did you say they’re ‘ _perfect_ ’?” Clint replied in a rushed whisper.

“Yes. I noticed it earlier while scouting, but suppose I didn’t think anything of it because…” She released a soft sigh. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t think anything of it because I was used to seeing that type of thing playing my PlayStation. Sorry, Hawkeye.”

“Lesson learned. We'll have to keep an eye out for more oddities. We need to move. Been in one place for too long.”

The pair slowly and silently (at least relatively so on Megan’s part) made their way closer to the largest building on site. For each change of cover, Clint would go first to demonstrate the path, then Megan would follow, doing her best to mimic him exactly.

“Lesson two,” Clint continued, after they had reached a new cover where they could speak without being overheard, “is ordinarily disguise. However, these guys are acting so oddly that I can’t help but feel disguise would be futile here.”

“Also,” Megan murmured, “bombs. I’d really rather not strap one to my chest, especially if I don’t know what sets it off.”

“Fair point.” He gestured towards the next location, and they began to move from cover to cover once more.

“By the way, if it makes you feel any better, Iron,” he whispered once she’d reached his position behind the last piece of cover before their target, “you’re already doing a lot better.”

“Well, I suppose that’s the point, Hawkeye,” Megan quietly replied. “So security cameras are watching all of the entrances to the building. How exactly are we getting in? Climbing?” Clint gave her a look. “Oh, you’re fucking kidding me. Note to self: Create a stealth suit. Climbing is too undignified.”

Clint smirked. “Yeah, I suppose it is compared to _flying_. We’re going to the roof first. Your map showed no guards on top of the building, and there are skylights. From there, we can plot out how we’re going to enter the building by watching the guards near those third floor windows. I haven’t seen many from outside, so I’m hoping they’re low in number on that level.” He jabbed a finger towards a guard nearby. “That one faces this wall briefly in his patrol, but that’s okay because the rest of it is long. The moment he turns away, I’ll get us a rope.” He deftly worked the controls located on the handgrip of his bow, which elicited a nearly silent whir of movement from his quiver. Silently and smoothly he withdrew an arrow from the quiver on his back, but it had no arrowhead. Instead, it had three metal claws that were clenched together. A thin black rope was attached to the opposite end of the shaft and ended inside Clint’s quiver. “You go first this time and as quickly as you can, Iron. I’ll follow after, since the rope is connected to my quiver.”

Megan stared at Clint for a moment then his arrow then him once more. “Huh,” she murmured. “Nifty toy. I trust you’ve factored _both_ of our weights into that arrow’s weight limit, so okay. Let’s do this, Legolas.”

Megan tensed as the guard Clint indicated earlier began the small portion of his patrol where he’d be facing the wall she would be scaling. Clint nocked his arrow, causing the three claws to nearly silently snap open. After a few more seconds, the guard turned, Clint released the arrow, and together, they quickly but quietly crossed the distance between themselves and the wall. Once the arrow attached itself to the edge of the roof, Megan grabbed ahold of the rope, internally grateful that her S.H.I.E.L.D. came complete with gloves, and began to scale the factory wall as swiftly as she could muster. Her arms screamed in protest. Their slim, muscleless build was suited to work in her lab — not this type of activity. _Shut up, arms!_ Megan internally cried out. _Remember that guard with the M4 Carbine and the bomb strapped to his chest? He’s going to be very interested in killing you, if I don’t get to the roof quickly!_ Finally, she reached the top of the wall and with one final effort, she pulled herself onto the roof, where she laid face up on her back, panting as quietly as she could.

A moment later, Clint was on the roof, crouched beside her with an amused expression on his face. “Not much physical activity with those videogames of yours, I take it.”

She gave him the bird as she muttered between gulps of air, “I said it… once, and… I’ll say… it again… I’ll build… a stealth suit… No more… climbing… _ever_.”

Clint patted her on the head, dodged her retaliatory swat, and made his way over to the nearest skylight. He stole a quick peek, his eyes focused on the third level to scope out the guard placement. After he mentally noted their likely fields of vision and was satisfied he could take a longer look, he stuck his head over the skylight once more. His eyes raked over everything in sight, causing him to tense up slightly. Noticing his stiff posture, the now slightly recovered Megan softly asked, “What is it? What do you see?”

“Come here, Iron,” he replied. “I need your weapons knowledge to confirm what I’m looking at.”

 _Well_ that _sounds promising_. With a small grunt of effort, she pulled herself into a crouched position, moved over to Clint’s location, and gazed down through the skylight. She paled. On the factory floor, four mobile missile launchers were each loaded with four of an all too familiar type of missile. “Those are _Jericho_ missiles, Hawkeye!” she fiercely whispered.

Clint reached up to his communicator. “Fredericks,” he whispered through the communication line to the VTOL pilot, which Megan heard in her own communicator. “Get the Director on this channel.”

After a few seconds, Director Fury’s voice filled her right ear. “Report, Barton.”

“Sir, Iron and I are on the roof of the factory, and we’ve got four mobile missile launchers carrying what Iron just identified as sixteen Jericho missiles between them all.”

Megan reached up to tap her own communicator. “With the range on these missiles, they could attack a city as far away as San Francisco, sir. I can disarm them if I get close enough, but the area is guarded by employees carrying M4 Carbines and bombs strapped to their chests.”

Fury immediately responded, “How much potential damage are we talking about, Stark?”

“If they used all of them strategically on, say, just Los Angeles, they could obliterate the entire city. If they carefully pick and choose their targets, however, they could wipe out some key buildings in numerous cities. Regardless, we’re talking about millions of deaths.”

“Barton, can you clear the area for Stark without raising the alarm?”

Barton’s eyes drank in everything they could see, pinpointing the locations of all the employees and cameras. _Two guards on the third level, solid walkway with sniper rifles, not quite facing each other. No risk of blood dripping down to the second level. No one in the third floor office. Five guards on the second level, solid walkway, with exploitable gaps of eyesight coverage of each other. Again, no risk with the blood. Stairwells between all the floors. Eleven on the ground level, plenty of coverage to exploit._ “Yes sir, I can.”

“Then training time is over. When will your armor be ready, Iron?”

Megan pulled out her phone and whispered to it, “J, if you weren’t already, connect to the line my S.H.I.E.L.D. communicator’s on. When you do, give me an ETA on your arrival and getting the suit to me.”

After a moment, Jarvis’ voice intoned into the S.H.I.E.L.D. line, “I will be there in approximately twenty-five minutes and ready to launch the suit one minute after my arrival.”

“That will have to do,” Fury replied. “Both of you keep your eyes open for Turgenov, but he is no longer priority. Barton, clear the area. Stark, once you’ve got your opening, disarm those missiles; until then, do whatever Barton tells you. Backup is on its way, but you can’t rely on it. Millions of people are counting on you two to succeed.”

Clint immediately snatched two tools from his belt and set to work. The first was a handled with four clenched arms, similar to his grapple arrow, and at the end of each of the little arms was a shallow cup with a hole in the middle — air suction cups. The arms snapped out, and he carefully placed the device against the glass. Once it emitted a soft whooshing noise, he released it and released the blade from his other tool, a glass cutter. Three broad cuts later, he grabbed the suction tool in his off hand and completed cutting the square with one more cut. He pulled the glass square free and set it aside, releasing the air suction and storing both tools on his belt once more.

He turned to Megan. “There are two guards on this first walkway. They aren’t looking at each other, and the ones on the walkway below aren’t looking up. I’m going to rappel down using my grapple arrow and kill the two guards before I drop down onto the walkway. I’ll release the rope from my quiver, so when you’ve recovered enough arm strength, use it to get into the building. There’s an office on the third level with no one in it. See if you can disable the missiles from the computer in there. You can do that, right?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I can do that, provided the system has a connection with the missiles. I’ll let you know through the communicator.”

“Good. Don’t expect a reply. We’re playing this too close to the chest for me to risk being heard.”

“Understood. And Hawkeye?”

Clint glanced over his shoulder to look at the woman who was now, more or less, his fellow agent. “Yeah, Iron?”

“Good luck.”

He gave her a nod of acknowledgment as he replied, “You too.” With that said, he withdrew another grapple arrow from his quiver, thrust it harshly into the ground, and dropped through the hole in the skylight. He deftly used his bow handle’s controls to stop his decent about halfway between where he’d entered the building and the third walkway. He pulled his first arrow, nocked it, and sent it flying through the eye of one of the third floor guards. In a flash, he had had done the same for the other guard, who hadn’t noticed anything amiss. The floor now clear, Clint used his bow’s controls to descend to the solid walkway of the third floor and release the rope from his quiver.

Megan gave her arms a test flex to see how they were holding up and found them still reasonably tired. _I’m not climbing_ up _this time, though_ , she noted to herself. _Just down. All I have to do is hold myself in place against gravity; not pull myself against it._ She took a couple of deep breaths to prepare herself then gripped the rope and began her own descent. Her arm muscles understandably protested but held up better compared to her climb. She slowly but surely made her way down and by the time she reached the third walkway, Hawkeye had already made his way down to the stairwell and begun stealthily making his way to the second floor. Her feet safely on the ground, Megan breathed a soft sigh of relief and swiftly made her way to the office, withdrawing her phone along the way.

“J,” she whispered to the phone as she entered the office. “Get me access to the entire system. Run a search to see if we can control the missiles from here. While you’re at it, see if you can find any security footage with Hammer in here or any documents with details about the missiles. We need to figure out what his plan is.” Without waiting for an answer, she placed the phone on top of the main computer tower and began to survey the rest of the room. _No paper document files or loose documents laying around._ Her eyes fell upon the room’s lone printer. _No forgotten printouts, but let’s see what was printed recently._ She moved to the printer and deftly pulled up the print log. _One job still in the RAM._ She disconnected the network cable in case the printout would be registered elsewhere in the compound, then reprinted the sole document in the machine’s memory.

“The missiles aren’t controlled through this unit, ma’am,” Jarvis announced in a carefully controlled volume as the printer began to churn out a document. “Cluster search of documents stored in this unit’s hard drive shows that one of the missiles was purchased from Obadiah Stane and eventually used to recreate the other fifteen. I also have security footage from today at 12:48p that you’re going to want to see.”

At her AI’s prompting, Megan abandoned the printer for the moment to watch the monitor as Jarvis began playback of the video. She watched horrified as Hammer spoke with the mutated Samuel Sterns.

* * *

_“So you got him out? … Excellent. You'll get the rest of your payment once you get him here. Don't get pulled over or do anything else that would fuck this up. … Everything's going according to plan, my Leader.”_

_“Of course it is. I thought of everything… S.H.I.E.L.D. will undoubtedly discover that man is being brought here. A security agency of their caliber will have taken precautions to ensure they could identify such a valuable target. Our decoy will only buy us time.”_

_“I am not worried, sir. You will think of something. Everything has been perfect since you deigned to touch my lowly self.”_

_“My touch has that effect, worm. And I need not think of something, for I already have. Am I not your Leader?”_

_“Oh yes, sir!”_

_“Good. Then here is what I want you to do: Get Vanko to LAX and give him the tools to begin building his whips. He will undoubtedly begin crafting them without my touch’s… encouragement, though I will touch him nevertheless once I reach there. Have a taxi ready on the tarmac by the moment I get off the plane. Ensure the helicopter is refueled by the time I return to LAS. Tell the employees to ready the Jericho missiles, don their bombs, retrieve their weapons, and man their stations. If Megan Stark comes to the compound, she is not to be harmed; detain her until I can touch her. Load the targets into the launchers’ systems, then remove all network connections between them and this office. Once you have done these things, take your emergency cash stores to the location I showed you earlier, leave them there, then drive into downtown Las Vegas and kill yourself where everyone can see.”_

* * *

“ _Fuck_ !” Megan said much louder than she should have. Thankfully, Clint had already cleared the next level and began taking out guards on the ground floor, so between the distance and the muffling effect of the office walls, no one heard her outburst. “J, send this video to F—, I mean the Director.” She brought her hand up to her communicator. “Director, Hawkeye. The third floor office doesn’t have control over the missiles; only the launchers do. But we have a serious problem incoming. Security footage shows that Sterns, the mutated guy who was at my house earlier, can apparently brainwash people into following him if he touches them, and I… saw him touch _Hulk_ earlier.”

Hawkeye didn’t reply, true to his word, but Fury replied immediately. “Stark, _stay focused_! You cannot worry about Banner right now!”

“Don’t patronize me, _sir_ ,” Megan harshly bit back. “Yes, I’m worried about Hulk, but that’s not what I’m trying to tell you. Think about what this could mean _here_. Sterns clearly spoke as though he knew we would be coming. He could be bringing Hulk here as we speak. I know your tail hasn’t said anything, but if he caught wind of them, then he could have touched them too.”

There was a pause on Fury’s end of the line. “That’s a fair point, Stark. I have the video now; I’ll watch it in a moment. Anything else we need to know?”

“Sterns clearly labeled me as a target. He wants me detained until he can brainwash me.” She twisted on her heel, strode over to the printer, and snatched up the document that had finished printing nearly a minute ago. Glazed-over eyes absorbed every detail on the pages as she flipped through them at rapid speed. “Somebody, probably Sterns, printed off a dossier earlier about somebody called ‘Ghost,’ though there’s not much in this. Mostly speculation, oddly enough. J, check the print queue on the computer for the file location, then send it to the Director. Hawkeye, I’m coming down. Let’s finish this.” As she quietly left the walkway, she whispered into her communicator, “Updated ETA, J?”

“I will be there in ten minutes and ready to launch the suit one minute after I arrive.”

“Well, let’s hope that if he _is_ coming, Sterns doesn’t get here with Hulk until at least then.”

As she reached the ground level, Clint nocked an arrow and sent it crashing through the skull of yet another mind controlled employee. _Four left_ , he mentally noted as he prepared his next shot.

With the way clear to the first two launchers, Megan stealthily made her way to the second, slipped into the driver’s seat, and set her phone by the dashboard’s controls. “J, can you neutralize this set of missiles and the two nearby sets as well?” she whispered into her communicator.

-thwip- Another employee was dead. _Three left_ , Clint noted.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jarvis simply replied before he immediately set to work on the three sets of missiles.

Without another word, Megan exited the vehicle and began to move as stealthily as she could towards the fourth and final launcher. As she edged around a corner, she suddenly found herself facing the back of an employee. _What the hell? I thought this way was clear!_ Before she could retreat to safety, the man began to turn around. _NO!_ Time seemed to slow down as adrenaline surged through her veins. She thrust herself backwards to give herself some space and her hand snatched the pistol from her belt. The man caught sight of her, his eyes widening with recognition, and he moved his rifle to take aim at her right leg for a crippling shot. But she had moved sooner than him. Before he could pull the trigger, she brought her pistol to bear on his head and squeezed her own trigger, clenching her eyes shut as she did so. Clint’s arrow devastated one of the other two men at the same moment Megan’s bullet blew a hole through her target’s forehead. Upon hearing the gunshot, the final employee acted immediately. He slammed his palm against the bomb on his chest, causing the bomb to explode instantaneously.

Miraculously, the explosion was small enough to not cause any of the Jericho missiles to prematurely explode. Nevertheless, the blast sent a nearby stack of containers toppling towards Clint, who had to throw himself out of the way to avoid being crushed. “Iron!” he yelled out, stealth abandoned altogether. “Disable the last set of missiles!”

Thankfully, no environmental hazards had occurred in Megan’s vicinity in the wake of the suicide bomber, as she was still rooted in place — her eyes clenched shut and her entire body quivering. Her ears were still reverberating from firing her pistol, but Clint’s shouted command cut through the noise enough that she still heard him. She shakily pulled herself to her feet and began to stumble towards the fourth launcher as fast as she could.

 _We… We just killed an innocent man!_ emotional-Megan cried out.

 _He was trying to shoot us!_ rational-Megan harshly retorted, trying to maintain her control over her emotional counterpart.

 _Yes, but he was going for a crippling shot, and he was_ brainwashed _!_ Megan’s real self sobbed as the thought crossed her mind.

 _This is_ so _not the time! We have to disarm those missiles! The lives of_ millions _of innocent people are counting on us!_

“Hawkeye!” Megan blurted as she slammed the door to the launcher open and threw herself inside. “Stay by me! Sterns told them to capture me alive, so they hopefully won’t detonate their bombs near me!” Clint, who had pulled himself to his feet, burst into a sprint in her direction and swapped arrowheads, anticipating the employees outside would open the door to the cargo bay. Moments later, the cargo bay door began to open as Megan, her eyes glazed over, began to swiftly neutralize the missile launcher’s payload. Clint slid to a halt next to the launcher Megan was in, nocked an explosive arrow, and sent it flying into the mechanism pulling the bay door open. Megan gave a brief shout of triumph as she finished neutralizing the missile, and at the same moment, an employee began to crawl through the open gap under the no longer rising bay door. Clint nocked another arrow and sent it blazing into the bomb strapped to the man’s chest.

The resultant explosion tore a huge hole in the bay door, revealing the charred remains of some of the employees and, behind them, the collapsed forms of their still alive companions. In less than a second, Clint had nocked yet another arrow and sent it flying through the hole in the door and straight into the bomb on one of the men on the ground.

Her adrenaline still pumping, Megan ignored the third explosion and jumped out of the vehicle, landing next to her partner who had already nocked yet another arrow. “Roof?” she asked as he let it fly into yet another bomb.

“Yes. Go,” Clint replied as his fingers danced across his bow’s controls in order to prepare a new arrowhead. Together, they broke into a sprint towards the stairwell. “When we get to the third floor, you climb the rope first. I’ll cover you.” He snatched the prepared arrow from his quiver and with a twist of his body immediately sent it flying at the hole in the cargo bay door. As flames burst into life and blocked the hole, he turned back to follow his partner.

“J, wipe my phone and d-detonate it if t-they grab it,” Megan stuttered out, holding back the queasy feeling in her gut.

 _We’ve killed Stane before and nearly killed Turgenov… Vanko… Whatever the hell his name is_ , rational-Megan shouted. _Why are you being so fucking ridiculous, emotional-Me?_

 _I already told you, you heartless bitch!_ emotional-Megan bit back. _They are_ innocent _people, and you’re telling Jarvis to kill them if they touch your phone?_

_They’re “innocent people” who are trying to kill Clint and — oh yeah, let’s not forget — were attempting to kill millions of people with Jericho missiles!_

_That was Sterns! Sterns!_

_And we don’t have the fucking luxury of drawing that line at a moment like this!_

As the duo reached the third floor, Megan practically threw at the rope and began to climb. Her arms felt like the blood in their veins had been replaced with liquid fire — like they might explode in a shower of gore at any moment. _Go now, or they’ll kill Clint!_ As she reached the halfway point, Clint grabbed the attachment at the end of the rope and thrust it into the waiting socket in his quiver. With a flick of the button, Clint began to wind it back into the quiver at a pace slow enough that he wouldn’t overtake Megan.

Finally, with an almighty effort and an uncontrollable moan of agony, Megan pulled herself through the hole in the skylight and threw herself onto the roof to clear the way from Clint. But at that moment, an electric whip crashed down onto the grapple arrow Clint had imbedded into the roof earlier, severing the rope and sending Clint falling back down to the third floor walkway. She looked up and paled at the sight of Vanko, complete with his electric whips. _How did he get up here? Sterns mentioned a helicopter, but I didn’t hear one._ Her eyes glazed over as her senses kicked into overdrive. _Vanko is lightly panting, and I can barely hear a helicopter way overhead. There was a roof access to this building from the roof of the next building over. Access to that roof through hatch. He must have been dropped off far enough away that we didn’t hear the helicopter but close enough that he could run up here. But how the hell did he know we’d exit through here?_

The memory of the security footage flitted through her mind. _“Everything’s going according to plan… I am not worried, sir. You will think of something.” “I need not think of something, for I already have… Here is what you must do…”_

Megan’s eyes widened but didn’t lose their glaze. _This guy had such a complex plan that it should’ve failed, but it_ didn’t. _He knew we would come. He knew how to manipulate Bruce into touching him. He presumably touched the S.H.I.E.L.D. tail on Bruce without anyone at Fury getting wind of it. He gave Vanko the perfect amount of time to build a new set of whips. He’s already in the perfect position to instantly change Bruce by dropping him. He’s perfectly planned for how Clint and I would exit the factory. There can’t be that many coincidences. Either he’s precognizant, or he can create the perfect plan when he knows the variables. If he’s precognizant, then there’s nothing I can do to stop him, but if it’s the second option…_

“Give up, Stark,” Ivan growled as he began to stride towards her. “Our Leader has chosen you for glorious purpose, but he has given me leave to incapacitate you in any way that doesn’t kill you. Do you really want to lose another limb when you will see the light of our Leader regardless?”

 _No, that’s not the whole truth_ , Megan noted with narrowed, still glazed eyes. _If it were, then he would have cut off my legs the moment I pulled myself through the skylight. Instead, he aimed for Clint’s arrow, knowing he would be behind me. He knew I wouldn’t have my suit right now, if for no other reason than he could have gotten the information from B-bruce. She grimaced as her love entered her thoughts but quickly returned to the problem at hand. So he was trapping me up here, away from Clint at a time when I wouldn’t have my suit. This is the perfect moment to capture me, but he could have made it even easier if he’d had Vanko chop off my legs right away while simultaneously striking the arrow with his other whip._ Her eyes darted over to glance at the arrow Ivan had struck earlier. Half of it was still stuck in the roof, but the area of the shaft that had been cut wasn’t burnt. _Clean cut without cauterization. He didn’t want to risk me bleeding out. Everything he’s done has been carefully executed to bring me to this moment of vulnerability, except for… Yes! He doesn’t know about that! If he did, then he would have sent anyone other than his whip-boy to capture me! I just need a diversion…_

“No longer lost in thought, Stark?” Ivan drawled as her eyes finally lost their glaze. He took another step closer to her.

Megan gave him an honest smile. “Mhm. Thanks for giving me a chance to think it through. I can see that your ‘Leader’ is a great planner. To think that he set this up so perfectly! I’m clearly outmatched. I give up.” She raised her hands in surrender and rose to her feet, sliding her right foot away from her left at an angle aiming just to the right of Ivan.

“A wise decision. Turn around and put your hands on your head.”

Megan slowly began to bring her hands up to her head, but after only a second of movement, a projectile burst through her left pant leg and burrowed its way into Ivan’s chest, sending him flying backwards. Her right hand shot down to her pistol’s holster as the still mid-air Ivan flicked his left whip down towards it. She grabbed the pistol, and moments before the whip could tear through her flesh, the projectile she launched at Ivan released a localized EMP burst. By the time the whip struck Megan’s arm, it was no longer charged. She grunted from the blow but immediately charged towards Ivan as he landed. The Russian’s head crashed into the ground, giving Megan the last bit of time she needed to shoot him in the head from two feet away.

 _I trust you’re okay with this one, emotional-Me?_ rational-Megan drawled as one of Clint pulled himself through the skylight, having earlier shot another grapple arrow into the ceiling of the factory next to it. _Even before he was brainwashed, he was trying to kill us, and you were trying to kill him._

 _You say that like it makes up for all the innocents we killed getting up here!_ a still clearly distraught emotional-Megan shouted back.

_Fucking impossible to please you._

“What the hell happened up here?” Clint asked as he took in her position over the now dead Ivan.

“Later,” she replied. “Sterns is above us in a helicopter with Bruce. If he drops him from that height, he’ll transform.”

 _Right you are, Miss Stark. I must admit, you have caught me off guard_ , the voice of the Leader flitted into her mind and, from the look on his face, she presumed Clint’s as well. _Dr. Banner did not know about the EMP grenade in your leg, and I, I am ashamed to admit, underestimated your intelligence. He told me what it meant when your eyes looked like that, but I let my pride get the best of me. Play time is over now._

Megan tensed. “J!” she shouted into her communicator. “Where the fuck is my armor?”

A blur that was undoubtedly Bruce fell from the sky and crashed through the skylight the moment that the suitcase armor slammed into the roof in front of her feet. “As it so happens, ma’am, it is at your feet.”

Megan laughed as she began to don the suit. “I guess you reviewed that dramatic timing video after all.” As her faceplate snapped into place, completing the armor’s assembly, she said to Clint, “Leave Hulk to me. I don’t know all the types of arrowheads you have, but I seriously doubt you have anything that would make him pause for long.”

“Yeah, and there’s no way that your mobile suit is more durable than the one you had in NYC,” Clint retorted as the unholy roar of the Hulk resounded through the area. “Don’t let your feelings for him cloud your judgment, Iron!”

She pointed at the nearby corpse of Ivan. “I kept my cool in the face of nearly impossible odds, Hawkeye, and I knew Hulk was overhead when I did it. My judgment isn’t clouded. If you want to attack Hulk as well, then that’s your call, but just remember that your genius teammate warned you beforehand that it would be best if you left the fight to me.” Without another word, she blasted into the air over the area the employees had been trying to enter the factory mere minutes ago. The moment she was over the masses of employees trying to swarm into the cargo bay, the Hulk burst through the large door as if it were butter. Oddly, as he passed the employees, they purposefully slammed the bombs on their chests in a clear effort to attack him. The rest began to shoot at him with their rifles. “What the hell? J, connect the armor to the communicator’s line.” After allowing her AI a moment to process her request, she asked, “Director, Hawkeye, do you copy? Something odd is happening with the employees.”

“Report, Iron,” said the voice of Fury as it filled her helmet. “What’s odd?”

“They’re actually _attacking_ Hulk. They’re denoting their bombs when he’s nearby and shooting at him when he’s not,” she replied as the Hulk released a yell of anger and began to swat away nearby employees. She glanced up. “J, get me a lock on Sterns’ helicopter.”

“Target acquired, ma’am. The helicopter is flying away due east,” Jarvis intoned.

“He’s got all the variables,” she murmured as her eyes glazed over. “so what is his plan? Why is he flying away from the fight?”

“He knows you could attack him,” Clint responded over the communication line, having heard her question. “He’s escaping now while Hulk keeps you busy.”

“But Hulk _isn’t_ keeping me busy,” she replied, “and there’s no way Sterns can outrun me unless he does. Since Hulk can’t chase me down quick enough if I fly after Sterns, the only way he could keep me busy is attacking you, Hawkeye, but he isn’t doing that _either_. The question, then, is why isn’t he keeping me busy? There are many things that could have occurred when Hulk landed, but primary among them are these two scenarios: 1) Sterns retains complete control over Hulk, even while he’s transformed. 2) Sterns loses control over him because he’s transformed. If the first scenario had been the case, then Hulk would be attacking one of us, not the employees. If the second scenario is true, then it’s plausible that Sterns is leaving in order to get away from him, and he’s using the employees to buy himself time. The balance of probability, in light of all the evidence, is that the second scenario is what’s occurring now. He isn’t distracting me because he’s not currently under Sterns’ control. Hawkeye, stay out of sight and don’t attack Hulk, and he likely won’t attack you. I’m going after Sterns.” Without another word, she twisted in the air to face the small, highlighted helicopter on her HUD and burst into motion towards it.

“That’s really well thought out and all, Iron, but even you acknowledged there’s a chance Hulk _could_ attack me, and while I’m willing to tackle him together with you, I’ll be pushing up daises in minutes if I do it alone.”

“Hawkeye, think about it. Do you want me to stay with you just in case the low possibility event you being attacked occurs, or do you want me to catch the evil genius who has a high probability of continuing to brainwash people by touching them?”

“Touché,” Clint replied. “Director, do you want him dead or alive?”

“What’s your opinion, Iron, since you’re on a roll,” Fury quipped back into the communication line.

“Honestly, the waters are a lot murkier there,” she replied after a moment of thought. “If we take him alive, then the likeliest scenario is that after Hulk changes back to normal, we’ll have him and whoever else this guy has brainwashed attempting to free him from wherever we imprison him. There’s a chance that we could hide him well enough that they wouldn’t know where to find him, but Sterns has already demonstrated distance telepathy. Who knows what the limit on its distance is? Alternatively, we could kill him in order to avoid those scenarios, but we would risk the effects of his brainwashing not going away when he dies, at which point it could be impossible to tell whether someone is still following orders he left them before he died. What we need is a test…” Inspiration struck her. “And I have one! It’s not fool proof, but it’s the best I think we’re going to get. Director, where is the agent who was tailing Hulk earlier? They were almost certainly brainwashed by Sterns.”

“I presumed the same after I watched the video you sent me earlier,” Fury replied. “We’ve already taken her into custody.”

She was quickly closing the distance between herself and the fleeing helicopter. “Good. Is she near you?”

“Yes.”

“Then make your way to her. You’re going to want to watch her behavior closely. We can perform the test when Hulk changes back to normal.” Megan slammed into the side of the helicopter.

Clint jumped in. “What on earth are you planning, Iron?”

“Trust me, Hawkeye,” she simply replied before released a repulsor blast into the lock on the side hatch and ripped it open to reveal a wide eyed Sterns. He threw his hands towards her and immediately everything that wasn’t attached to the helicopter itself flew towards her. None of it was even remotely dangerous, however, and the unfazed Iron Woman snatched the mutated menace and dragged him out of the vehicle before the pilot could react. Safely out of the helicopter, she proceeded to choke the Leader until he fainted from a lack of oxygen. “I have Sterns, and I’ve knocked him out for the moment. Has Hulk changed back yet?”

“No,” Clint replied, “but he has killed all of the employees. Thankfully, he’s left me alone.”

Megan faltered for a moment upon hearing the report of Bruce’s carnage but maintained her grip on Sterns. _He killed everyone?_ She shuddered. She knew that they had been attacking him and that most had likely killed themselves, but it was still difficult for her to hear. _Please let this test work. I don’t think my psyche can take any more battery today._

“There we go. He’s changing back,” Clint said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Then here goes nothing.”

* * *

“Uuuuuggh,” Bruce groaned as he came to. “Where am I?” He froze as realization struck. “I’m… I’m moving myself again! Is he finally out of my head?”

“That’s what we need to find out, Hulk,” the still armored Megan replied from nearby.

Bruce’s head snapped to face her. “Meg! Oh thank god I didn’t hurt you!” His eyes locked onto the person she was holding, and he felt his anger flare to life. She was holding with her left hand the still very much alive, and now conscious, Leader.

“Hulk, focus!” she sharply said, bringing Bruce’s attention back to her. “I need you to do exactly what I say, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation. “What do you need me to do?”

“There’s a pistol at your feet. Pick it up, then walk over to me.” Although he was confused by what was going on, Bruce slowly retrieved the pistol from the sandy ground, treating it like it were a wild animal, and made his way to Megan’s side. “Good,” she said. “Now put the pistol against Sterns’ head.”

Bruce shakily lifted the weapon as instructed. “Meg, you know I… I have a difficult time around these things after… after _that incident_.”

“I know, Bruce,” she softly replied, using his given name rather than his codename, “but _you_ have to be the one to do this. I promise I’ll stop bugging you about not needing to brush your hair in the morning.”

Her joke got its intended effect. The pistol’s wobbliness lessened dramatically as he quipped back, “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“True. I mean, your hair looks fine _even now_ , and you just got done going on a rampage. It’s absolutely, one hundred percent ridiculous. Now, are you ready for this?”

Bruce took in a deep breath and steeled himself. “Yes.”

“Kill him.” Bruce didn’t hesitate for an instant. He squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet crashing through the Leader’s skull and the out the back into the sandy ground in a flurry of red gore. Megan released the breath she’d been holding and asked, “What’s the word, Director?”

“She’s no longer trying the kill everyone in sight.”

“Excellent,” Megan cheerfully responded as her faceplate flipped up. “Right then, I am _so_ done with this fucking mission. Do I need to do the debrief right now, or can it wait until tomorrow? I’m wiped.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bruce said, confusion etched in his features. “Would you mind explaining what the point of all that was? Why was I the one that had to kill Sterns?”

“It had to be you for my test to work. When you left the house earlier, I reported what happened to the Director, and he assigned a tail to you, who Sterns subsequently brainwashed. With her and Sterns detained and conscious, we just had to watch how they reacted to what I was telling you to do. The weight of the probability indicated earlier while you were hulked out that you were, at least temporarily, free of Sterns’ brainwashing. The first part of the test was whether you would listen to me and kill Sterns. If you were still brainwashed, you wouldn’t have killed him unless he told you to do so. The second part of the test was watching the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent’s behavior before and after you killed Sterns. She was going ballistic beforehand, trying to break free while yelling and screaming about ‘saving her Leader,’ but afterwards, she stopped going bananas. If Sterns’ brainwashing effect hadn’t disappeared when he died, then she wouldn’t have done that unless he told her to do so beforehand. So basically, unless Sterns decided to let himself be killed in order to create sleeper agents, we now know that you hulking out broke his control over you and that killing him broke his control over the other person from S.H.I.E.L.D. he brainwashed. It’s not a foolproof test, but at least we know the exact possibilities at this point, and the bastard can’t mind control anyone else at this point.”

Bruce was staring at her, exasperation evident on his face, by the time she finished. “Great. So I’m still technically not in the clear.”

“Let’s be honest, Bruce,” Megan replied, giving him a look. “You were _never_ ‘in the clear’ with S.H.I.E.L.D., so really, nothing’s changed for them. The good news is that they aren’t going to be watching you any more than they already were.”

“Better than nothing,” he replied before he released a sigh. “Can we go home now? Riding passenger in my own body has left me with a hell of a headache.”

Megan laughed. “I’m just as ready to go home as you. Oh, and sorry in advance, but I'm flying us back. Clint is taking the VTOL to drop of this guy’s corpse at the New Mexico S.H.I.E.L.D. site.”

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” Clint said over Megan’s communication line as the sound of an approaching VTOL filled the air.

“You’re the devil are you?” she replied, unable to hold back a grin. “Well that explains a lot. Today was grueling.” She gave Bruce a lopsided grin. “He had me climbing up and down ropes! Truly horrendous, making me do such a thing!”

“Torture is my specialty, madam,” the sharpshooter replied as the vehicle began its decent to her and Bruce’s position. “You did all right, rookie.”

“Ah, I did ‘all right,’ did I? Well I suppose I should give credit where credit is due. You’re a good teacher, _Obi-Wan_. I’ll do my best to not betray you by turning to the dark side of the Force.” She caught Bruce’s look of confusion in the corner of her eye. “Remember what I told you earlier? How I was going to be learning how to be ‘sneaky’? Yeah. That.”

Bruce turned to face the VTOL as it landed and the rear hatch opened to reveal Clint waiting with a body bag. “Thank you, Meg. For clearing my name as much as you could.”

Megan quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t need to thank me, Bruce. I mean, being a superheroine is now one of my jobs.”

“‘Superhero?’” Clint laughingly asked as he made his way to the fallen corpse of the Leader. “I wasn’t aware that being an Agent made me a superhero. I should ask for a raise.”

“They don't pay me to do this, Clint,” Megan replied.

“Really?” Clint said as he finished zipping up the body bag. “I have to admit, that just made my opinion of you skyrocket exponentially. And that's saying something, since I already like you.” He turned to face her and locked his blue eyes with her own. They stayed that way for a moment, both of them just watching the other with a serious gaze, until Clint finally stuck out his hand. “Iron Woman, it was a pleasure working with you.”

“Same, Hawkeye,” she replied as she shook his proffered hand. “Permission to go home and sleep, Director?” she asked as she released Clint’s hand and broke eye contact with him, her voice radiating tiredness.

“Granted, Stark. You did good work today,” Fury responded. “Agent Barton,” he continued, “After you hand Sterns over to the team waiting at Roswell, I need you to meet Agent Coulson in Puente Antiguo. Fredericks will be flying you over once he's refueled the VTOL. Agent Stark, you will join him there tomorrow by 1700 hours; call Agent Coulson for coordinates. Understood, you two?”

“Yes, sir,” Megan and Clint replied in unison.

“Well, at least the weary get _some_ rest,” Bruce commented with a weak grin as Megan walked over to him and secured her arms around his waist

She gave him a smile in return. “Jarvis, drive the Audi home, please. We’ll see you there.” And with that said, she burst into the air in the direction of Malibu, California with Bruce clutched in her arms.

* * *

**Saturday, May 29th, 2004 @ 05:11p, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

“See you in a bit, Fredericks,” Clint told his pilot as the rear hatch of the VTOL lowered itself down to the ground, forming a ramp.

“Of course, sir,” the pilot answered as the team of scientists who had been awaiting his arrival began to wheel a gurney up the ramp, stopping by the sharpshooter’s side.

“Basil Sandhurst,” a scientists with a shaven head said in greeting as he saluted Clint. “We’ll take him from here, Agent Barton. I’ve been asked to inform you that your arrow cache is currently in room 114, which is near loading bay 01.”

Clint gave him a nod of acknowledgment before replying, “He’s all yours,” and heading off in the direction the scientist had indicated.

Once the sharpshooter had left, Basil turned to follow his team, who had already loaded the corpse of Samuel Sterns onto the gurney and begun wheeling him off to their lab. _Let’s see what secrets we can learn from you, 'Leader.'_


	12. Chapter Ten: Tempest Displacement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_“Basil Sandhurst,” a scientists with a shaven head said in greeting as he saluted Clint. “We’ll take him from here, Agent Barton. I’ve been asked to inform you that your arrow cache is currently in room 114, which is near loading bay 01.”_

_Clint gave him a nod of acknowledgment before replying, “He’s all yours,” and heading off in the direction the scientist had indicated._

_Once the sharpshooter had left, Basil turned to follow his team, who had already loaded the corpse of Samuel Sterns onto the gurney and begun wheeling him off to their lab._ Let’s see what secrets we can learn from you, ‘Leader.’

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Chapter Ten: Tempest Displacement_

“When tempest tossed, embrace chaos.”

Dean Koontz

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 06:07a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

“Are you ready for this?” Bruce asked as he carefully aimed Megan’s pistol at her armorless body.

_You watched him kill innocents, unconcerned._

Megan took in a deep, shaky breath as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Please, no.”

_So claim your prize, what you have earned._

“Don’t kill me!” she screamed in terror.

_Blood for blood, damned and burned._

Bruce didn’t hesitate for an instant. He squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet crashing through the Megan’s skull while she watched, wide-eyed. The metal projectile exploded out of the back of her head in a flurry of red gore and flew into the sandy ground behind her, cracking open the earth to reveal an endless pit of black shadows. With the killing blow struck, her body crumbled backwards, and as she fell into the dark embrace of her makeshift grave, the fissure brutally snapped back together, crushing her instantly. Her blood flew into the air as if reaching for the brilliant sun gleaming overhead, but it had lost the fight to escape to heaven as soon as it had begun. The red matter splashed back against the earth where there had been a fissure mere moments earlier, all of its momentum spent.

Bruce slowly closed the distance between himself and the pool of blood. As he gazed down upon it, a red effigy in the shape of her suit of armor, he angrily whispered, “You were even worse than them, Megan Stark. They did it for money, but you did it because it was _fun_. A disgusting monster with an insatiable bloodlust playing pretend as a heroine.” The longer he whispered, the angrier his tone became and the more he changed. By the time he was finished, the Hulk stood over the blood spatter that marked her grave.

“I love you, Bruce,” Megan’s disembodied voice whispered from everywhere at once.

“Die!” the fearsome Hulk furiously yelled before he brought his green fist crashing down upon her sole remains.

“Noooooooo!” Megan screamed as she woke from her dream shivering and in a cold sweat, her eyes wide open.

“Megan! You’re finally awake! Are you okay?” Bruce cried in relief upon seeing her eyes open.

“W-what?” she stammered as she looked around in a panic, trying to figure out where she was. The room was half covered in darkness, but the half-risen sun illuminated the rest well enough that she quickly identified it as her and Bruce’s bedroom. She was laying on her back in their bed, and Bruce was half lying in bed with his upper body supported in the air by his left hand, which was planted firmly against the bed, and his right hand gripping her right shoulder. “I-I… Night… _Nightmare_ ,” she explained as her blue eyes locked onto Bruce’s worried, neon green counterparts.

“I gathered,” he deadpanned as he released her should and brought the back of his right hand up to rest against her forehead, checking for a temperature.

With her nerves finally beginning to calm down, she began to blush from embarrassment and quickly mumbled, “Sorry I woke you.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Pearl,” he reassured her with the biggest smile he could muster while gazing upon her clearly troubled expression. “Want to talk about it?”

She gulped, her stomach suddenly full of butterflies at the prospect of explaining that she had dreamed about him executing her. “It was… err, about yesterday,” she weakly supplied, wincing at how lame her explanation was. “Some of the things that happened really bothered me,” she added, diverting his attention to the root cause of her trauma rather than the symptom — the dream.

Bruce took the hint, since addressing the source of the problem would in all likelihood be more effective treatment regardless. “Okay. What was it that bothered you then?”

Megan gave him a small smile, grateful that he was leaving the dream itself alone. “Well, as you know, Sterns had the ability to brainwash people by touching them.”

“I’m not sure ‘brainwashed’ is the most accurate description,” he acknowledged with a nod, “but I know what you mean. I was still consciously aware of what my body was doing, but I wasn’t the one controlling it.”

Megan paled. “My god, that just makes it worse,” she murmured. She pulled herself up enough that she was leaning against her pillow and the bed’s headboard, her face as white as a sheet. “So all of those people? They _experienced_ committing suicide, unable to stop themselves?”

“Wait, what? Who are you talking about? Did Sterns really make people kill themselves?” Bruce asked, attempting to keep his voice calm, lest he add to the stress Megan was clearly displaying. He pulled himself upright from his half-reclined position and folded his legs so he was sitting cross-legged on the mattress, facing her. Wordlessly, she nodded her head. Soon after, tears began to fall from her eyes, so she brought her hands up to cradle her face as she sobbed. Bruce laid his left hand upon her right shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze as he softly crooned, “You stopped him, Meg. You stopped him before he could hurt anyone else.”

“I shot one of them,” Megan whispered in a horrified voice. “I repressed it long enough to get the job done, but… I shot a man, Bruce. I killed a man who was a prisoner in his own body — who I could have saved, if I hadn’t fucked up. And Clint… Clint was picking them off while I just watched. I didn’t even ask him if he could avoid killing them somehow. I just… let him kill them.”

“Meg, don’t do this to yourself,” Bruce pleaded. “You were trying to prevent him from killing millions.” At her confused look, he explained, “He… He wanted to keep me long term, Meg. I wasn’t expandable like Vanko was, so he told me about his plan — about the missiles. You saved the lives of _millions_ of people, Megan Stark. Don’t beat yourself up over the couple you couldn’t save. You’re a hero.”

She sniffed. “I… Objectively, I know you’re right. But _subjectively_ … I just feel awful, Bruce,” she explained as she wiped away her tears. Wordlessly, he opened his arms in invitation, and likewise silent, Megan moved herself over into his lap and cuddled against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her in a comforting embrace. After a couple of minutes of quietly enjoying her lover's embrace, she finally murmured, “I suppose I should head over to Puente Antiguo, since I’m wide awake at this point. Are you going to be okay here?”

Bruce chuckled, “Of course. And I promise to not answer the door for any more strange men who telepathically ask me to help them.”

That elicited a grin from the beauty in his lap. “You better not, big guy, or you’re sleeping on the couch next time.” She reluctantly pulled herself free from Bruce’s arms and slid off the bed while stifling a yawn. She glanced at her vanity and grimaced at the tangled mess of red and black upon her head. She turned her head to look at Bruce’s head and scowled at what she found.

He raised his hands in preemptive surrender. “I’ll mess it up, if you want,” he answered her silent accusation, unable to keep the humor out of his voice, though he wisely did not respond to her muttered comment about “stupid boys” as she set about preparing to go to New Mexico.

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 09:25a, MST | The location of Mjölnir's impact**

“Ma’am, we're approaching the location of Agents Coulson and Barton,” Jarvis intoned, waking the dozing genius.

“Mmm? Oh, right,” she muttered as she woke up from her nap while Jarvis piloted the suit to Puente Antiguo. Specifically, the GPS location from Phil’s phone, which she had procured earlier. “Thanks for the wake-up call, buddy. Disengage auto-pilot and bring up visual of the location.” She whistled at the sight of the structure that Jarvis displayed on her HUD. “That’s a pretty fancy base for a temporary location. Okay, Jarvis, call Ph— actually, you know what? I need a pick me up, and I know just how to do it.”

Inside the base, Phil Coulson was staring at his computer screen as he read through what felt like the thousandth report since his teams of scientists had begun collecting data about the hammer. One would have thought by the sheer amount of data that they would be closer to figuring out exactly what they were dealing with, but it seemed that the more they learned the more the questions piled up. It didn’t help that their instruments weren’t working at a hundred percent efficiency due to the electrical interference the hammer was radiating.

He had just finished a page and was moving on to the next one when without warning the report disappeared from his screen altogether, replaced by the face of Megan Stark, covered in a mixture of shadow and pale blue light. “Philly, darling!” she said with a grin. “It’s been, what, a day? Much too long. Thought I’d drop in for a visit.”

Phil allowed himself a small grin. “Good morning, Agent Stark, you’re up earlier than usual. What’s the occasion?”

“ _Boo_!” she replied with a laugh. “Don’t get formal on me just because Fury changed my first name to ‘Agent’; you’ll regret it! And circumstances beyond my control resulted in my not sleeping that well.”

Her unfaltering smile gave nothing away, but Phil had briefly had a chance to hear a little bit about the prior day’s events from Clint earlier, so he knew that she had likely suffered from nightmares. “Well, I hope the circumstances resolve themselves soon,” he simply responded. “Do you actually need coordinates for once, or did you already steal them from me?”

Megan’s smiled twisted into a lopsided grin. “Knock knock,” she taunted. “Why don’t you come out and greet me? Buh-bye, Philly!”

Phil rose from his seat, his small grin still in place as her face disappeared from his monitor and the report he was reading reappeared, as if nothing had happened (Though the song _Shoot to Thrill_ was now emanating from the computer’s speakers.). As he exited the room, he tapped his earpiece communicator and said, “Agent Barton, Agent Stark is here. Meeting her out front then heading to the meeting room to debrief yesterday’s mission. Meet us either outside or in the room.”

“Roger,” Clint simply replied through the communication line.

When Phil reached the entrance to the temporary base, he found Megan already on the ground and shedding her armor. Several S.H.I.E.L.D. employees were standing nearby watching, having temporarily put their duties on hold to watch her. “Back to work, ladies and gentlemen,” Phil calmly called out, causing the gathering to disperse just as the suit’s handles withdrew into the suitcase and Megan picked up the technological wonder. He was pleasantly surprised to see that she had washed the uniform she had been given the day prior and was wearing it. “Agent Stark,” he acknowledged, his voice containing trace amounts of humor.

She gave him a look said 'I warned you' before shamelessly replying, “Agent Philly.”

Phil’s small grin grew into an overt smirk. “It’s time to debrief yesterday’s mission.”

“No fair!” she replied, stifling a giggle. “You just retaliated against my retaliation!”

He shrugged nonchalantly as he turned on his heel and began to stride towards the entrance. “You’ll never know.”

“I hope you know,” she replied as she followed him into the building, “this means war,” she concluded in a sing-song voice.

* * *

“Thank you for your report,” Phil said as Megan finished her report. Clint had given his first and, given the high level of detail he provided, she had merely needed to fill in a few gaps Clint had not been present for, such as her activity in the office and her brief encounter with Ivan on the roof. “Barton, you’re dismissed. Stark, I need to go over the official paperwork with you.”

Clint rose from his seat with a smirk as Megan groaned and palmed her face with her hand. “Official paperwork? You’re killing me, Philly. Where’s the love at?”

Phil grabbed the stack of paperwork that he had placed in the chair next to him earlier, placed it on the table, and slid it over to her, eliciting another groan from the genius. Grumbling, she began to flip through the pages at a rapid speed, her eyes glazed over. Occasionally, she would pause just long enough to initial in the required places, and when she had finally finished it all with her quickly written, but still elegant signature, she pushed the stack away from her while looking at it like it was poisonous. “If anyone else had gone through the stack that quickly,” he muttered, bemused, “I would have thought they hadn’t read a single line. Thankfully, I know you better than that.”

Her eyes no longer glazed over, Megan scoffed and replied, “Good. Because I would _not_ have read that the slow way. It was bad enough as it was.”

Phil laid a S.H.I.E.L.D. ID badge and a short stack of uniforms on the table and slid them over to her. “Ordinarily, we would issue you weapons and a phone, but you wouldn’t use them anyway, so we’re not bothering.”

Megan quirked an eyebrow as she hesitantly picked up the ID badge. “I used a pistol yesterday, didn’t I?”

“I caught word of a ‘stealth suit,’ so I presumed the pistol would be a one-time deal,” he quipped back.

“Touché,” she replied. “I’ll be working on that while I’m here, unless you had something else in mind?”

“We’d appreciate you taking a look at the hammer first, but then you’re free to prepare your… new uniform.”

Megan snorted at his reference to her planned stealth suit. “Yeah, it will be something like that. Now, what’s this about a hammer? ‘Cause if you need a good toolset, I could google the location of a tool store.”

Phil stood and gestured for her to follow. As the duo departed the meeting room, leaving her armor behind, he explained, “We received reports of a hammer that had fallen from the sky, caused a crater on impact, and was stuck, immovable in stone. That’s why we’re here: This hammer is real, and while we have no eye witness reports of the landing, we do have testimony that this crater was not here three days ago, and all attempts to move the hammer have proven futile.”

“Nifty,” she replied with genuine interest. “What kind of data have you gotten on it?”

“The hammer is constantly releasing electrical interference, which makes testing difficult. My teams have compiled numerous, incredibly long reports filled with mostly useless data. Despite our inability to extract samples from the hammer, we’ve been able to conclusively determine it’s made entirely from materials that did not come from Earth.”

“Well, I’d be happy to take a look,” she said as she pulled out her phone, a replacement she kept handy and had grabbed before flying over, and glanced at it. She quickly returned it to her uniform’s pocket and inquired, “By the way, speaking of hammers: Did we find Justin Hammer?”

“Yes,” Phil replied, “and alive, no less. The Las Vegas PD are adept at dealing with suicidal individuals, in light of the heavy gambling in the area, and they managed to take him into custody before he could jump from the roof of the Sahara Hotel and Casino. Apparently, he was loudly proclaiming his intention while making his way to the roof, so the building’s staff managed to slow him down long enough for officers to arrive. He’s made a full recovery since the death of Sterns.”

“Good,” Megan as they began to descend into the crater. “I’ve always hated the guy, but I’m glad he didn’t die. Enough people already did,” she finished somberly.

“Would you like some protective gear, Megan?” Phil asked as she approached Mjölnir.

“No, no,” she replied. “Jarvis has been analyzing it the best he could in light of the interference since you first mentioned it, and together with the information you already have — which he, err, procured — he compiled a list of the most relevant data. Among which: I’m not going to die from touching it. That’s pretty obvious in the short term, since the local news reports mentioned that dozens of people have touched it but mention neither a sudden influx at local hospitals nor a rash of deaths. The important part though is that nothing suggests potential _long term_ harm.” She knelt down next to the hammer and, noticing the inscription on the side, read it aloud. “Whosoever holds this hammer, if they be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.” She continued to stare at it for a moment longer, but then she looked down at her chest and poked at her arc reactor. “Huh. Well that’s odd.”

Phil blinked. “What is it?”

Megan pulled herself back up to a full standing position and said nothing for a moment. “Yeah, that’s definitely odd,” she finally said. “When I was crouched down next to it, my arc reactor began pumping a lot more power into my system. The feeling went away the moment I stood up.” She glanced up at Phil. “So is this really supposed to be Mjölnir? The weapon of Thor?”

“So it would seem,” he replied. “I would have just expected it was some kind of elaborate hoax, but…” He reached over, gripped the hammer, and clearly attempted to pick it up, but the weapon wouldn’t budge. “It is surprisingly convincing.” Phil glanced back at Megan and noticed she was staring intently at the handle of the hammer. “Megan? What’s wrong?”

“I… I just…” she replied, somewhat breathlessly. “When you grabbed the hammer just now, I suddenly wanted to…” Without another word, she reached down and grabbed the handle of the hammer with her right hand.

She lifted it, and lightning struck Mjölnir.

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 12:11p, MST | Puente Antiguo, New Mexico**

“I need a horse!” Thor regally announced as stepped into the pet store, his posture screaming entitlement.

The shopkeeper stared at the bulky, blonde-haired man for a moment before responding. “We don’t have horses. Just dogs, cats, and birds.”

The banished Asgardian considered this for a moment before replying, “Then give me one of those large enough to ride!”

“We, uh… We don’t have any large enough for that… kind of thing. Please leave my store.”

Thor glanced around the shop for a moment, as if he expected to find an animal that was of mount proportions, but eventually turned around and left the shop with a contemplative look on his face.

“Hey, you still need a lift?” He looked up and smiled when he found the speaker had been the Lady Jane Foster.

“If milady would lend me the services of her metal mount, then I would be in your debt,” he gracefully responded, eliciting a smile from the brunette scientist. Before either could say another word, however, lightning struck to the west. Jane was caught off guard by the sudden show of electricity without lightning clouds, but Thor gasped very audibly, his eyes wide and staring. _Nay, it cannot be! Has a human taken up Mjölnir?_ His head whipped back to face Jane. “Milady, we must set forth at once to the location whence that bolt of lightning struck!”

“O-of course,” Jane replied, silently wondering why the lightning had affected him so much. “Let’s go.”

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 12:12p, MST | The location of Mjölnir's Impact**

Phil Coulson stared unbelieving at the sight before him. Megan was still standing in the same position, but her head was turned to the sky, her right arm was held up into the air, and her attire had completely changed. In lieu of the black S.H.I.E.L.D. jumpsuit, she was now wearing a suit of armor straight out of a medieval fairytale constructed of a mixture of metal, leather, and cloth. Her feet were in metal sabatons with rounded off toes, her legs were covered in a black cloth, her wrists had bracers with a red leather base and external metal coatings that ended at the top with points, and her torso was adorned with what was essentially a metal corset that also had metal, two-piece spaulders with red leather connecting them to the corset and a red leather skirt that split into columns separated by the same black cloth covering her legs. All around her, the air was crackling with lightning, and she was holding in her right hand the hammer, Mjölnir, which no one else had been able to lift. Unable to form words, Phil just continued to stare at the genius inventor, recently chosen agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., and now, it would seem, Norse goddess.

It was Megan who broke the silence. Her head snapped down to face Phil, her blue eyes wide with astonishment, and simply commented, “Holy shit.”

Phil immediately brought his hand up to his communicator and practically shouted into it, “Get me Director Fury _now_.” Once he released his hand from the device, he carefully questioned, “Megan? Are you okay?”

“I… Yeah, I think so,” she replied as she abandoned the pose she suddenly realized she had struck without intending to. She brought the hammer before her and stared at it, disbelief still evident on her face. “This is the _real Mjölnir_ ,” she breathed out in awe. She lifted her eyes to Phil once more, who was still staring at her. “I feel _so powerful_.”

“Medic!” he yelled out then, more calmly said to her, “We need to check you out anyway. Both of us. Lightning just struck in close proximity to us. It doesn’t appear to have done any damage, but we need to be sure.”

“Naturally,” Megan replied distractedly.

Medics were dashing into the area while the onlookers began to rapidly multiply as the word spread of what had occurred. She blushed lightly as one of the medics began to carefully inspect her body, careful not to touch anywhere inappropriate. “Stark seems to be fine,” the man announced, and his counterpart soon pronounced the same for Phil. Finished, the medics took a step back from the temporary charges but continued to stand around, which just magnified the awkwardness of the situation in Megan’s mind.

“Coulson,” Fury's voice said into his communicator. “Talk to me.”

“Director,” Phil replied, “Stark was able to lift the hammer, and when she did, lightning struck, transforming her into, for lack of a better description, a Norse goddess.”

“No, that’s not right. At least, not completely,” Megan suddenly said as he finished giving the abbreviated sequence of events. “It's weird to explain. Hand me a communicator, please.”

“We have them inside,” Phil responded and turned to lead the way. Megan followed, expecting to find the armor awkward to move in but pleasantly surprised at its maneuverability. As the duo moved inside, the sheer number of people watching them became apparent. “Stop standing around!” Phil ordered. “We need to figure this out ASAP! Get back to work!”

“S-sir,” a man in the crowd of the people replied, “if we’re going to analyze the hammer, we need it from Agent Stark.”

Phil glanced at Megan who looked oddly uncomfortable at the prospect but reluctantly nodded. She set it down on a nearby table before awkwardly requesting, “Don’t take it far?”

The man from before cautiously approached the hammer, wrapped his hand around the handle, and attempted to move it. The weapon wouldn’t budge. His eyes widened. “I don’t think we can.”

“Well that's… Err, good?” she replied before shrugging at Coulson and gesturing for him to continue leading the way.

Along the way, they encountered Clint, who stared at Megan like she had grown a second head and a third arm. “On your way to a renaissance fair, Megan?” he joked.

Megan sighed wearily. “C’mon, we’ll explain along the way.” A short walk — and for Clint, explanation — later, Phil brought them into a room filled with standardized S.H.I.E.L.D. equipment, where she quickly snatched up an earpiece communicator and secured it in her left ear. “Patch me into the line with Fury,” she asked the operator, who quickly connected her.

“You were saying, Megan?” Phil inquired as Clint requested through his communicator to be patched in as well.

Megan nodded before continuing her earlier train of thought. “I can’t explain _how_ I know, but Asgardians aren’t actually gods, or myths for that matter. They’re… aliens? No, that’s not right either. They’re from another dimension altogether, and they can travel here through the Bifrost.” She paused for a moment. “I mean, I could easily be hallucinating, since I was totally just struck by lightning, but the medic said I check out, and I don’t _feel_ like there’s anything wrong with me.”

“Stark,” Fury replied with a brief groan of exasperation. “I swear you’re the world’s worst trouble magnet. Is there anything else you may or may not be 'hallucinating?'”

After a moment of thought, her eyes widened. “The real... Or is it original? _Anyway_ , there's _a_ Thor here in Puente Antiguo. Odin banished him from Asgard, casting him through the Bifrost to Midgard — that's here, sorry — as punishment for starting a war with the Frost Giants of Jotunheim. The hammer, Mjölnir, was also thrown through the Bifrost, but only after Odin enchanted it to only work for those who are worthy.”

An awkward silence followed. Fury finally broke it, saying, “Stark, I hope you _are_ hallucinating this. If the Norse legends are actually true… If monsters and magic are real, then humankind may be at risk.”

“Well, we have a way to know for sure,” Clint supplied.

Megan nodded in agreement. “If Thor is real, he’ll certainly have seen or felt me picking up Mjölnir, and he will come to reclaim it, if he can. We just need to keep a watch for a blonde-haired, muscular guy who claims to be a Norse god. I can’t imagine that’s a _frequent_ occurrence.”

* * *

Armed with a plan of action, the trio split, returning to what they had been doing prior or, in Megan's case, what they had planned to do.

Once she had reached the meeting room, she hacked into the sole computer located in there and logged into her remote secure server. _Time to design a stealth suit_ , she thought to herself.

“Welcome back, Miss Stark,” Jarvis' voice echoed through the unit's speakers. “I trust you have managed to completely obliterate another phone?”

She glanced at the unit's attached hardware and was pleased to find a microphone. She adjusted it to her height, then replied with a smirk, “I have, but you'd never believe how. Would you put a call out to Happy and ask him to pick up two new phones — one to be my new one and the other the backup?”

“Right away, ma'am,” her AI replied.

“Super. Now, we're working on a stealth suit, Jarvis. Bring up my blueprints, please.” Instantly, the Mark IV suitcase model was pulled up along with three tabs indicating the Mark I-III models. “Duplicate the Mark... III model, Jarvis; file as 'Mark V.'” Once the new file was created, Megan gazed over the blueprint with calculating eyes, debating the improvements she wanted to make.

 _This thing has to have mobile assembly like the suitcase model, but suitcases are_ so _one week ago. Time for a redesign._ As she pondered how to achieve this, her leg prosthetic and the neural input sensors in her leg flitted across her thoughts. _Yes! That! Separated parts that reassemble based on sensors I inject into myself. With that, I can pick and choose what pieces I want to wear at any time — prefect for a stealth suit._

 _Now, what pieces would the stealth version need to avoid? Metal feet and the joints are easy exclusions; they would create too much noise. If the suit doesn't have boots, then I need to add extra repulsors for flight somewhere else. A jet-pack sounds plausible, though I'd need to make sure it doesn't harm me when I use it. I can't imagine I'm going to need to bend over backwards very often, so an elongated, solid back piece that extends down to just above the small of my back should do the trick. Okay, so protection from burning myself is done; what about the jet-pack itself? Actually, a jet-pack sounds kind of impracticable. Instead, extendable air flaps? The increased surface area would provide better lift at low levels of repulsor output — much quieter. The joints for the flaps would have to be_ very _quiet though... I bet I could achieve that with modifiable extension speed. That wouldn't work for other joints, but for something extending out from my back, that should work well._

She directed her focus to the head of the armor. _Unnecessary on the whole, but keeping some kind of visual HUD would be a tremendous help. Perhaps a pair of goggles that integrate the current HUD UI and fit into the regular head armor but can be utilized independently. Throw in the built-in communication, and that sounds good. Now weapons. Having hand repulsors would be good in case shit hits the fan, but using them would be a dead giveaway of my location. Lasers are a potential alternative. I could use them to cut throats or behead people, but that's really messy and, quite likely, not too quiet. Well, how about something more old school? Clint's arrows work like a charm, so why can't something like... lethal darts?_ She blinked. _Actually, that's a_ really _good idea. I can easily whip up darts I can fire that inject an upgraded version of the lethal injections they give death row inmates. Sodium thiopental to them to sleep, pancuronium bromide to paralyze their entire muscular system, and potassium chloride to stop their heart._

Megan began making the changes to the armor and jotting down notes for the entirely new parts that would need to be designed. The darts and internal sensors would be easy, since she could base them, respectively, off of lethal injections and the neural sensors that made her prosthetic function. The separated goggles and head armor would take a bit more work, and the air flaps with high surface area repulsors would require the most work. _I can probably get this done in a night or two, once I get back to my lab. Oh! Speaking of, I should probably call Pepper and tell her that I'm not going to be at work tomorrow. Responsible employee and whatnot._ “Jarvis, call Pepper and patch this unit into the call.”

“Pepper Potts' line,” Pepper answered after the phone had rung a few times. “May I ask who's calling?”

“Hey, Pep. It's me,” Megan easily replied. “Sorry for the late notice, but I'm not going to be at work tomorrow. It's... err, a long story. To be honest, I'll have to get back to you about when exactly I'll be returning. I'm doing some important work with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

The CEO sighed, before responding, “Well, they _did_ bail us out at the Senate Committee hearing... Let me know when you can be back ASAP, okay?”

“You got it, boss lady,” the ex-CEO replied with a laugh. “Enjoy your weekend,” she finished in a sing-song voice.

Pepper paused for a moment before replying. “Megan... Try not to get yourself killed. Please?”

“You know I do my best,” Megan soberly replied. “To not get killed, that is. I swear I'm not actively throwing myself into... Actually, that's kind of a lie. I'm going to shut up before I continue to dig myself into hole. I'll talk to you later, okay, Pep?”

“Okay,” she replied with a sigh. “Goodbye, Meg.” She hung up.

* * *

“What on earth…” Jane muttered as her truck drew closer and closer to their destination — the temporary base S.H.I.E.L.D. constructed. “Those guys at the restaurant said this was a satellite crash. If that were true, they would’ve hauled the wreckage away; they wouldn’t build a city around it…”

“Reign in your mount, Lady Jane,” Thor requested. She happily obliged, pulling over and putting the vehicle into park. Once she had, he opened the door, saying, “Now stay here. Once I have Mjölnir, I will return the items they’ve stolen from you. Deal?”

“What? No!” she replied right away. “Look at what’s down there! You think you’re just going to walk in, grab our stuff, and walk out?”

“No. I’m going to _fly_ out,” he replied with a smirk and a confidence that nearly convinced her he could.

* * *

“We’ve got a perimeter breach, east side,” the S.H.I.E.L.D. employee monitoring security reported into the PA system. “Blonde hair, muscular. Potential Thor. DeLancey, Jackson, go check it out.”

Upon hearing the PA announcement, Megan glanced up from the computer she where she had been working on her combination combat/stealth suit for the past forty minutes. She reached for her communicator, her usually casual demeanor instantly being exchanged for its more serious, 'mission time' counterpart. “Coulson, Hawkeye, this is Iron. I’m making my way to the east side to check the potential.” She abandoned the computer and swiftly raced through the compound, taking note that she was both moving at a much faster pace than usual and wasn’t feeling strained by it. She cut through the room where she had previously set down Mjölnir and shocked the scientists around it by unconsciously summoning the weapon to her outstretched hand without slowing down in the slightest.

“This is Hawkeye,” Clint said through the communication line. “I’ve got a bird eye view of the target. He’s moving for the east entrance. Ready to fire if necessary; just say the word.”

“Copy that, Barton,” Phil responded. “Hold for now. Stark, ETA?”

“Now,” she simply replied as she stepped through the exit on the east side of the building. Thor, who had been racing towards the door, skidded to a halt upon seeing her and was staring at her like he had seen a ghost. She too stared at him in disbelief, knowing the moment she saw him who he was. “Thor Odinson.”

“Aye,” Thor acknowledged. “I am he. And who are you, maiden, that you would wield my hammer, Mjölnir?”

“Megan Stark,” she replied, “and I wield Mjölnir because I could lift it.”

“Lady Megan,” the banished god responded. “I would reclaim that which is mine. Return Mjölnir to me.”

Megan stared at the man for a moment, her mind racing through the potential outcomes that could result from her actions, carefully weighing how to proceed. _No_ , she thought to herself after a moment. _I know what I need to do._ She carefully placed the weapon on the ground between them. “This was once yours, so you have the right to reclaim it, Odinson... if you can.”

He scoffed at her words and moved towards the hammer with what could only be described as a strut. Upon reaching it, he grabbed the handle with confidence etched across his every feature and tried to lift it. It didn’t budge. Thor frowned and brought his other hand down to grip it and began to pull at it, but the hammer refused to be moved. After nearly a minute of attempting to move Mjölnir, he finally released the handle and stumbled backwards, staring at his hands. He glanced up at Megan, utterly despondent, with an unreadable expression on his face. When Megan didn’t react, he turned his gaze up to the sky and released a primal cry of sorrow.

Megan fought back tears, knowing what was happening. He was imploring his father, Odin, but he was not answering his son’s cries. She couldn’t imagine being in his place at that moment. “I’m sorry, Thor,” she murmured, knowing it would be of little comfort but wishing to speak nevertheless. “If there is anything I can do, then… then let me know.”

At the sound of her words, Thor brought his gaze back down to rest upon her. His expression was still one of hopelessness, but he managed to mutter, “The Lady Jane’s possessions. I… I promised them to her.”

She frowned, bringing her hand up to her earpiece. “Coulson, do we have the possessions of someone named ‘Jane’?”

“Jane Foster, yes,” Phil’s voice said from above her.

She twisted around and gazed up. He was watching the exchange from an upper level. “Is it going to be a problem if we give them back to her?”

Phil stared at the man Megan identified as Thor without saying a word, debating the pros and cons of returning the items. “You’re positive this guy was the real Thor, Stark?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

“Then we’ll return the items we borrowed,” he responded, “but we need to question him before he leaves here.”

“Of course,” Megan replied turning back to face Thor to gauge his reaction.

“Thank you, Lady Megan. Thank you, Son of Coul,” the god managed to say. “Lady Jane awaits me in her metal mount. Release her possessions to her, and I am your prisoner.”

Megan lifted Mjölnir from the ground. “You have my word. Let’s go.”

* * *

“And you say this Bifrost is a gate between Asgard and Earth?” Phil questioned Thor, who was sitting across the table from Megan and himself in the meeting room.

“Aye,” Thor replied. “It is the bridge between Asgard and the nine realms, among them Midgard — the realm your Earth resides within.”

“I think that’s all we need,” the agent said after a moment. He raised his hand to his communicator. “Patterson, take him outside then release him.”

The guard, Patterson, entered the room and began to lead Thor out, but before they could leave, the Asgardian asked, “Stay a moment, please, Son of Patter.” He turned to face Megan and gave her the same unreadable expression he had earlier. “Lady Megan, I have known you only for a short time, yet you have been naught but kind to myself and Lady Jane. Thank you for allowing me to… to try and reclaim Mjölnir. Before this day, I could not have imagined a life from Midgard would be worthier than I to hold it. You have both shown me the worth of Midgardians.” He turned to leave through the door.

“I hope you can go home to your parents soon, Thor,” Megan suddenly replied, catching herself off guard. “I know what it’s like to be unable to see them.”

Thor paused once more, looking over his shoulder at Megan. “Live well, Lady Megan, until you join your forebears to feast in Valhalla.” And with that, he departed with his escort.

Megan turned to Coulson. “He confirmed everything I inexplicably knew earlier. Asgard, Odin, the Frost Giants… They’re all real. We are _so_ outgunned.”

Coulson wearily massaged his forehead. “I’m going to go report this to Fury. You’re free to work on your stealth suit for now, but be ready for anything at this point. I somehow wouldn’t be surprised if a monster dropped out of the sky and began to terrorize Puente Antiguo.”

She gave her fellow agent a look. “You probably just jinxed us. Great job, Philly.”

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 02:05p, MST | Puente Antiguo, New Mexico**

Thor sighed as he gazed around Jane's trailer, pondering what to do. He hadn't considered the possibility that he could no longer wield Mjölnir. All of his plans hinged on the hammer resting in his palm once more, and now, they were worthless. “Perhaps Lady Jane will have a suggestion to offer,” he morosely murmured to himself. He glanced up and nearly shot to his feet in surprise at the figure he saw watching him. “Loki? What are you doing here?”

The black-haired Asgardian, clothed in green and gold regalia, simply replied, “I had to see you.” His pale green, narrowed eyes were fixated upon his adoptive brother.

“What's happened? Tell me! Is it Jotunheim? Let me explain to Father,” Thor pleaded.

“Father is dead,” Loki stoically intoned.

“What?” the banished Asgardian said with a gasp, unable to believe what he was hearing. He cradled his head in his hands, feeling as though an unknown weight had been chained to his heart.

“Your banishment,” the acting king of Asgard explained. “The threat of a new war. It was too much for him to bear.” He glanced away for a moment, a show of emotion playing across his features. “You mustn’t blame yourself. I know that you loved him. I tried to tell him so, but he wouldn't listen.” He turned his eyes back to face his adoptive brother. “It was so cruel to put the hammer within your reach, knowing that you could never lift it. Worse yet that a _human_ has taken it.” He sighed as he stood up. “The burden of the throne has fallen to me now.”

Thor lifted his head from his hands and gave Loki and imploring look. “Can I come home?”

Loki's expression softened. “The truce with Jotunheim is conditional upon your exile.”

“Yes, but... couldn't we find a way to?”

“Your mother,” Loki continued, “has forbidden your return. This is goodbye, brother. I'm so sorry.”

“No,” Thor replied as he rose to his feet. “ _I_ am sorry. Thank you for coming here.”

“Farewell,” the acting king said.

“Goodbye,” Thor murmured as Loki's image faded away.

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 02:08p, MST | The location of Mjölnir's Impact**

Phil's communicator flared to life. “Agent Coulson, sir. We got massive energy readings out of nowhere, and then they just disappeared. Location's one mile outside of Puente Antiguo.”

“Good work,” he replied. “Copy that, Stark?”

“I heard, Philly,” the armor clad genius remarked over the communication line. “I'll check it out. Taking my armor — my _normal_ armor, that is — with me just in case. I'm not exactly accustomed to using the hammer.”

“I'll have team two do preliminary scouting. They're five minutes out.”

“No need. I'm pretty sure I can use Mjölnir to fly, and we've proven that everything else I magically learned is true, so I doubt this is any different. I'll be there by then.”

“I'd warn you that what you're planning to do is dangerous, but I'm confident you'd ignore me.”

“Besides, you just said it anyway. Toodles, Philly,” she replied as she reached an exit, Mjölnir in her right hand and her suitcase armor in her left. Clint was outside waiting, leaning against the wall of the temporary base. “Here to watch, Clint?” Megan said with a giggle as she strode out into the open.

“I would never miss the opportunity to see the great Megan Stark try to fly using a magic hammer,” the sharpshooter replied with an obvious grin.

“'Try?'” she retorted as she gripped the leather loop at the bottom of Mjölnir's handle in her fist. “Not so much.” Acting on instinct, she turned to face southeast, the direction of Puente Antiguo, and began to spin the mighty hammer at high velocity. After a moment, she swung it into the air she was facing and was thrown into flight, pulled by Mjölnir.

Clint stared at the sky where Megan had already flown off so far that she was a mere speck on the horizon. “Well I'll be damned.”

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 02:08p, MST | One mile outside of Puente Antiguo, New Mexico**

“Is this Midgard then?” Volstagg inquired as he, the rest of the Warriors Three, and Sif arrived on Earth via the Bifrost. He gazed about, his red hair flapping in the wind, and saw Puente Antiguo in the distance. “Oh good! A city! I was worried I wouldn't be able to find a meal!”

“You just ate, my friend,” the fair-haired Fandral quipped with a laugh as he clapped his large companion on the back. “Hold your appetite until we can get Thor back to Asgard.”

Sif began to sprint towards the town, yelling over her shoulder, “We haven't much time. Come on!” The Warriors Three — Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg — quickly caught up to her and matched her pace.

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 2:07p, MST (Earth Time) | Throne Room of Asgard**

Loki descended into the treasure stores of Asgard where the instrument of his adoptive brother's demise stood sentinel — the Destroyer. “Ensure my brother does not return! Destroy everything on Midguard!” The powerful device came to life and began to make its way towards the Bifrost.

As he and the Destroyer exited the treasure stores, the Bifrost, which loomed on the horizon, activated in spite of Loki's order to Heimdall to let no one use it. _His treason shall not go unpunished._

Moving with the speed of a god, Loki swiftly reached the bridge between worlds where he found his target awaiting him. “Was I not clear, gatekeeper, when I said no one was to pass through the Bifrost?”

“Tell me, Loki,” Heimdall said, ignoring the trickster god's question. “How did you get the Jotuns into Asgard?”

Loki gave the Asgardian a wicked smile. “You think the Bifrost is the only way in and out of this realm? There are secret paths between the worlds to which even _you_ , with all your gifts, are blind. But I have need of them no longer, now that I am king. And I say, for your act of treason, you are relieved of your duties as Gatekeeper and no longer a citizen of Asgard.”

“Then I need no longer obey you!” the bronze-armored gatekeeper cried as he brought his sword to bear. It was in vain, however, for Loki immediately encased him in ice, leaving him unable to move.

“Heh,” the trickster god breathed out, his wicked smile still in place. With that done, he inserted the base of his scepter into the Bifrost's control mechanism, opening the bridge between Asgard and Midgard. The Destroyer, which had just arrived, moved through the bridge. Once it had done so, Loki changed the bridge, connecting Asgard with Jotunheim.

Soon after, Laufey, king of the Frost Giants, appeared in the Bifrost together with his men. Laufey turned to his men and ordered, “Retrieve the casket, then retreat to Jotunheim. The Allfather is _mine_.” As the other Frost Giants raced off to accomplish their task, Laufey turned his gaze to Loki. “Once we have the casket and the Allfather lays dead, we shall leave as promised,” he ground out. Then, without sparing the acting king of Asgard another glance, he departed across the bridge towards the palace.

As the King of Jotunheim departed, Loki murmured aloud to no one but himself, “Not that Jotunheim will be there for you when you return. I will see to that.” He smiled devilishly before he disengaged the Bifrost then left to follow Laufey.

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 02:10p, MST | Puente Antiguo, New Mexico**

The residents of Puente Antiguo stared at the group of Asgardians as they strode into the outskirts of town, having quickly reached it. “Is the Renaissance in town?” some of them quietly joked, laughing.

Ignorant of the whispers around them, Sif and the Warriors Three gazed around, searching for any sign of their companion. They did not have to look for long.

“I don't believe it!” Thor cried out, having seen them from inside the trailer and rushed out to meet them. “Lady Sif and the Warriors Three!” The five Asgardians came together exchanging excited greetings. “My friends,” he continued, “I have never been happier to see anyone. But you should not have come.”

“We're here to take you home!” Hogun explained.

Thor shook his head sadly. “You know that I can't go home. My father is... dead because of me. I must remain in exile.”

The other Asgardians all shared a look of confusion. “Thor,” Sif carefully replied, “You father still lives.”

* * *

 _Holy shit, why why_ why _did I think this was a good idea?_ Megan thought to herself as Mjölnir dragged her through the sky. Puente Antiguo was rapidly approaching underneath, and all she could think of was, _How am I supposed to land? By crashing?!_ Miraculously, as her eyes darted back and forth looking for somewhere safe to land, she managed to notice the group of five Asgardians below. Without consciously thinking her actions through, she ripped the hammer from its flight path, spun it once more, then hurled it in their direction, hoping to land nearby. _Please let one of you have magic healing powers or something._ But after a moment of flight, she muttered, “Oh, fuck...” She was careening straight towards one of them.

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 02:11p, MST | The location of Mjölnir's Impact**

“We just got another massive surge of energy, sir!” the S.H.I.E.L.D. employee from earlier called out.

“Location?” Phil immediately replied, having been standing nearby, watching the instruments as Megan flew into the nearby town.

“Location's on the fringe of Puente Antiguo. The end opposite from the previous surge.”

Phil's hand rose to his communicator. “Stark?” he said into the communication line. “Did you copy that?”

“Get out of the way! _Get out of the way_! Shit shit shit _shiiiiit_!” was her reply.

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 02:11p, MST | Puente Antiguo, New Mexico**

“What?” Thor asked in confusion, his volume raising at the implication. At that moment, the Bifrost opened up across town, drawing their attention. “Was someone else following you?” the banished Asgardian inquired, turning his gaze to the fellow warriors.

Before his they could reply, however, Megan's panicked cries reached their ears. “Get out of the way! _Get out of the way_! Shit shit shit _shiiiiit_!” Everyone's eyes immediately turned to lock onto the source, but it was too late. The flying genius hurtled straight into Sif, causing them both to skid a few feet away as their bodies absorbed the leftover momentum. Unable to maintain her grip during the impact, the hammer and her suitcase armor both flew away a couple of yards away before finally clanging to a halt.

“What on earth is going on out here?” Jane said as she stepped out of the trailer, with Erik Selvig and Darcy Lewis trailing behind her, to investigate why there was so much noise.

“What in the Allfather's name?” Sif muttered as she tried to pull herself to her feet only to realize that Megan was laying on top of her. “Who is this woman?”

Megan, who had miraculously only suffered minor injuries from her crash landing due to the endurance Mjölnir had infused her with, released a long groan before she yelled, “That has got to be the _worst_ way to fly ever! Stupid hammer!”

“Did _Megan Stark_ just fall out of the sky? In medieval armor?” Darcy asked in shock, as she recognizing the celebrity. “Holy... This week just keeps getting better and better,” she finished with a laugh as she pulled out her cell phone and snapped a picture. Erik just stared at the odd gathering with a look of confusion.

“Stark!” Phil's voice said through her communicator. “Are you okay? What happened?”

The petite genius managed to drag her hand up to her communicator. “I'm fine,” she muttered. “ _Somehow_. I am _never_ flying like that again.”

“Glad to hear it, Stark. Did you get the message about the energy surge?”

“Lady Megan,” Thor said as he walked over and offered her a hand, pulling her up and off of Sif. “I see you are enjoying my old hammer.”

“Old hammer?!” the other Asgardians cried out in astonishment at the same moment Megan laughingly replied, “' _Enjoying_ ,' he says!”

Before anyone in the ragtag group could say another word, screams of fear began to reach their ears. In the distance, the Destroyer was marching through town, wreaking havoc in its wake as it attacked buildings and people alike with an energy beam that emanated from the point on its structure that a face would have been on a human.

Megan brought her hand to her communicator. “Uh, Phil?” she replied. “You really _did_ jinx it.”

“Lady Jane,” Thor cried as he caught sight of the Destroyer. “You have to leave.”

“Wait, but what are you going to do?” the panicking brunette scientist asked.

Megan quickly surveyed those around her, her gifted knowledge of Asgard allowing her to instantly identify Sif and the Warriors Three. “He's going with you, and these four are coming with me. We have to stop that automaton!”

“No, Thor is gonna fight with us,” Volstagg immediately replied.

“My friends,” Thor said, “If what you said before was true, then the reason for the Destroyer's presence is all too clear to me. Go, my friends! Take Lady Megan with you back to Asgard and stop Loki.”

“Wait, what?” Megan retorted, staring at him as though he were crazy. “What about the automaton that's trashing the town?”

“Do not worry, fair lady,” he replied with a smile. “I have a plan.” Without another word, he sprinted over to the Destroyer, which had almost reached their position.

“No! What are you doing!” Jane cried out as he suicidally ran towards the approaching menace.

“He's giving himself up,” Megan answered in shock as the banished Asgardian stopped before the Destroyer with outstretched arms.

“No!” Jane screamed upon hearing her words. She attempted to run after him, but Erik cut her off and held her back from danger.

“Jane, you can't!” he ground out as he struggled to hold her in place.”

“Brother, whatever I have done to wrong you, whatever I have done to lead you to do this, I am truly sorry,” Thor called out to the automaton, which was now focused entirely upon him. “But these people are innocent. Taking their lives will gain you nothing. So take mine... and end this.” Without hesitation, the Destroyer viciously backhanded him, sending him flying into the side of Jane's trailer.

Upon seeing his crumpled, tattered, and bleeding body, Jane wailed in agony “ _No_!” and collapsed to the ground in tears. The other Asgardians, Erik, and Darcy all just stared in horror at the sight, unable to move a muscle.

“Thor!” Megan cried out as she rushed over to his side. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why did he do that? Why did I_ let _him do that?_ She dropped to her knees beside the fallen Asgardian and checked his pulse. It was gone. She shakily rose to her feet. “He's... He's dead,” she confirmed.

Without warning, the Destroyer once more began to unleash its laser upon nearby buildings. Thor was dead, but it had been given two orders. _“Ensure my brother does not return! Destroy everything on Midgard!"_

“ _Loki_!” she screamed at the automaton in anger. “You son of a bitch!”

 _Don't let emotional-me control you, real-Me!_ rational-Megan interjected. _Be calm and think this through! You can be upset later. Right now, you need to use what you have and stop that thing. And what you have is_ the power of Thor _, in case you forgot._

 _Oh. Right._ Instinct told her what to do as she lifted Mjölnir into the sky and called down a bolt of lightning. She could feel the energy coursing through her just like it had earlier that day when she knelt beside the hammer for the first time. Grasping at that power, she brandished the hammer at the Destroyer and released it. They metal construct had no time to react as lightning shot out of Mjölnir, blasting it backwards to the ground. She immediately charged at her target, and when it attempted to fire its laser at her, she brandished Mjölnir once more, using it as a shield to block the energy. Once she was upon it, she released a battle cry and drove the hammer straight into and through the Destroyer's head. It proceeded to release a small explosion, blasting her backwards onto the ground by the feet of Sif and the Warriors Three. With a groan, she pushed herself up onto her elbow and stared at the automaton until she was confident it would no longer move.

She flinched in surprise when Fandral and Hogun suddenly hauled her to her feet. “Woah woah woah!” she cried out as she yanked her arms free, twisting around to face them. Upon seeing the surprised looks on their faces, she sheepishly muttered, “Err, sorry. Touching is kind of a thing when I don't know you that well.”

“Our apologies,” they murmured, the gloom of their friend's death still hanging over them like a specter.

Megan gave them a soft look of understanding. “No, I'm sorry. I just crushed that thing in less than a minute, but I... I just stood there and watched him die,” she softly replied as tears came to her eyes. Her eyes fell upon the dead body of Thor. Jane sat there crying over him, mourning the loss of the man she realized she had come to love. Darcy and Erik were doing their best to comfort her — Darcy with tears in her eyes — but even they were struggling to deal with the abrupt, brutal death of the odd man who had slowly become their friend over the course of his stay. “ _I watched him die_.” The fight over, she relinquished her hold on her emotions and felt sorrow fill her every pore. She hefted the hammer Mjölnir before her and stared at the inscription on its side, her tears falling down upon it. “If they be worthy,” she murmured with a watery voice. Suddenly, she sobbed then turned her furious, water-filled eyes up to glare at the heavens.

“Can you hear me, Odin?! _Allfather_?!” she yelled in anger. “I never believed in you until I held this hammer, and you know what? I wish I could forget about you! I wish I could pretend you didn't exist, that you didn't condemn your son to death over a stupid mistake! But I can't...” Her sorrowful eyes turned down to gaze once more upon the fallen Thor. “I can't pretend this didn't happen. Because you _did_ let him die. Your son sacrificed himself without a second's thought for his own life in order to protect this town. A town full of people he barely knew. You let him die... And so did I.”

Slowly, Megan trudged over to the fallen god, and when she reached him, she knelt down next to Jane, who was still sobbing freely. She held Mjölnir over him and whispered, “I'm sorry, Thor. I'm not worthy to hold this hammer — to have this power.” She reached down with her left hand, gently pried open his right hand, then set Mjölnir in his palm. “You were.”

Lightning struck. It struck with a powerful fury as Thor's hand clenched down upon the hammer, his eyes suddenly alive as he drew breathe. Megan and Jane stumbled backwards as the electricity coursed through the air, lifting Thor's once lifeless body into the air and metal armor began to assemble itself upon him. The group of humans and Asgardians watched with growing joy as his wounds disappeared as if they had never happened, and a moment later, the electricity pulsing around his body finally evaporated, dropping him down onto his feet, Mjölnir gripped firmly in his right hand.

“Oh. My. God,” Jane said in disbelief, a sentiment shared by the other human onlookers. All except Megan, who simply and tearfully whispered, “Thank you.”

“Thor!” the Asgardians cheered as they rushed over to greet their arisen friend.

“Thank you, my friends, but now is not the time for rejoicing. We must make haste to Asgard; I would have a word with my brother.” He turned to Jane, Darcy, and Erik. “Forgive me, I must go. Thank you for your kindness. Lady Jane, I give you my word, I will return for you.” Lastly, he turned to Megan. “Lady Megan, thank you for doing what I could not and for humbling me. I am proud to have known you.”

“'Known' me?” Megan retorted. “You make it sound like you're never going to see me again. Save it. I'm coming with you to help stop Loki. It's the least I can do after letting you die, even though it was only temporary.”

Thor gave her a look of genuine confusion. “I do not understand. You still have your Asgardian armor, but without the hammer, you are just a human again.”

“Oh don't worry,” a voice from nearby said. “She's got a completely different set of armor.” Phil Coulson stood there with Megan's suitcase armor in hand, having retrieved it from where she dropped it nearby.

Once again relying an instinct, Megan focused on vanishing her Asgardian armor and grinned when it faded away, restoring her S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. “Thanks, Philly,” she said as she took the handle of her armor and dropped it on the ground, releasing the handles that initiate the armorizing process. Jane, Darcy, and Erik had seen the television footage of her donning the armor, but watching in-person the armor assemble itself around her, amazed them just as much as it did the Asgardians. “To be honest, Thor,” Megan said as her faceplate snapped into place, its eye slits burning red, “I think I prefer my armor.”

A brilliant grin grew on Thor's astonished face, but after a moment, he gave the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents a serious look. “Know this, Lady Megan, Son of Coul: We fight for the same cause, the protection of this world. From this day forward, you can count me as your ally.”

“Thank you, Thor,” Megan honestly replied. “Now lead the way. We have to stop Loki.”

“Aye,” he replied as the other four Asgardians joined him at his side. “Heimdall!” he called out the heavens as Megan stepped over as well. “Open the Bifrost!” For a long moment, nothing happened, but just as the Asgardians began to grow restless, the fabled Rainbow Bridge came crashing down upon them, whisking them away.

* * *

**Sunday, May 30th, 2004 @ 02:32p, MST (Earth Time) | Asgard**

A moment later, the group of six emerged from the Bifrost. The sight that greeted them was not pretty. “Heimdall!” Thor cried out with worry upon seeing the dying form of the Gatekeeper, who had managed to free himself from the ice tomb Loki had encased him in but was suffering from the long-term cold exposure. “Get him to the healing room!” the restored god of thunder commanded, eliciting immediate action from his fellow Asgardians. He turned to the armored Megan, who was leaning against the wall, banishing the dizziness the ride over had caused. “Lady Megan, stay here and guard the Bifrost. Use the bridge behind you to escape if you trouble finds you.”

Megan's faceplate snapped up, revealing that she was frowning. “I came here to help you. You pledged to protect the Earth; let me help you protect Asgard.”

“You do not understand. By guarding the Bifrost, you are helping protect the rest of the nine realms. If someone were to activate it and leave it running, then it could _destroy_ that world.”

The genius Midgardian paled at the implication as she eyed the gigantic device. _This thing could obliterate a planet?_ “Right. That _does_ sound important. Leave guard duty to me; your brother's all yours,” she replied as her faceplate snapped back into place. The thunder god gave her a nod of gratitude before effortlessly flying off in the direction of the gleaming capital of Asgard. “Huh,” she commented to herself as she watched him depart. “He makes it look pretty easy.”

* * *

The King of the Frost Giants slowly approached the motionless body of Odin, a dark look of pleasure dancing across his blue visage. “It's said you can still hear and see what transpires around you,” Laufey said to slumbering Allfather who did not stir under the hate-filled gaze of the Frost Giant. “I hope it's true, so that you may know your death came at the hand of Laufey.”

Laufey lifted his weapon and prepared to plunge it into Odin, but before he could, Loki dispelled his illusion of invisibility and stabbed the Frost Giant in the back. “And your death came by the son of Odin.”

Frigga, Odin's wife and mother of Thor and Loki, gasped as she happened to enter the room just in time to see Loki strike Laufey dead. “Loki,” she breathed out, her relief clear, “you saved him.”

The trickster god let the lifeless Laufey fall to the floor, swiftly moving to her and placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder. “I swear to you, mother, that they will pay for what they have done today.”

“Loki.”

Mother and son turned as one to find the source of the voice. “Thor!” Frigga cried out as she rushed to greet her other son. “I knew you'd return to us.”

The thunder god hugged his mother, sincerely happy to see her, but kept his eyes firmly fixed upon his adoptive brother. “Why don't you tell her?” Frigga was caught off guard by the sudden direction of the conversation and turned to Loki with a look of confusion. Oblivious to his mother's expression, Thor continued. “How you sent the Destroyer to kill our friends! To kill me!”

“What?” Frigga asked, that one word fully expressing the feeling of betrayal she felt.

“Well,” Loki retorted, attempting to turn the tables back in his favor, “I was enforcing Father's last command.”

Thor gave him a dark look. “You're a talented liar, brother. Always have been.”

Loki gave him a smarmy look, replying, “It's good to have you back.” Before either Thor or Frigga could respond, he brought his scepter to bear on the thunder god and released a blast, knocking him off of his feet. “Now if you'll excuse me,” he said as he bolted from the room, “I have to destroy Jotunheim.”

The trickster god swiftly recovered the horse he had laid in wait, anticipating this need, and set off at a blazing speed towards the Bifrost — the instrument of Jotunheim's demise. What he did not expect to find at the Rainbow Bridge, however, was a woman who appeared to be comprised entirely of black and gold metal with two burning red eyes. She stood imposingly in the gate with her hand outstretched and her palm glowing an ominous red. “You shall not pass,” Megan declared firmly as Loki brought his mount to a halt before her. _Minor geek out moment. I have_ always _wanted to say that!_

“I know not what sort of creature you are,” he curtly stated as he leaped down from his mount, “but as king of Asgard, I demand that you move aside.”

“'King of Asgard,' you say?” she blithely replied. “Then you must be Loki.”

“If you know of me, then learn your place,” the trickster god answered impatiently as he began to stride toward her.

Megan fired her repulsor square into Loki's chest, blasting him backwards to the ground. “I know my place,” she replied as Thor arrived, having caught up to his brother via flight. “It's between you and the people of whatever planet you're hoping to destroy.”

Loki swiftly pulled himself to his feet, turning so he could keep an eye on both Megan and Thor. “Accursed creature,” he growled in Megan's direction. “You and yours will regret this day!”

“Bring it on, reindeer games,” she taunted.

“'Reindeer games?'” Thor inquired, suddenly confused. “I do not understand.”

Megan laughed in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “It's a human reference. I'll tell you later.”

“'Human'?” Loki drawled. He stared closely at her then smiled devilishly. “Ah, I see. There are only two humans my brother would bring to Asgard, and only one of them can put up a fight. You must be Megan Stark, she who claimed the hammer.”

Her faceplate snapped up. “The one and only,” she said, as she gave the trickster god a mocking bow.

“Give it up, Loki,” Thor demanded. “You can't activate the Bifrost from there, and you cannot hope to best both of us.”

“Not from here, no,” Loki said with a nasty smile as he flashed, fading into nothing. The two heroes snapped their heads in the direction of the Bifrost, where the true Loki was standing. “But I can from here,” he said as he activated the bridge.

“No!” Megan shouted as she fired repulsors at him in order to knock him away, but despite her quick reaction, he pulled his scepter free from the activation mechanism.

“You can't stop it!” Loki jeered as Megan continued her assault, trying to grab his weapon. “The Bifrost will build until it rips Jotunheim apart!”

Thor leaped into the fray as well, viciously slamming Mjölnir at Loki, who parried with his scepter. “Why have you done this, Loki?” he asked.

“To prove to Father that I am a worthy son,” Loki answered as he agilely dodged around Megan's flying tackle while also avoiding a sweeping blow from Thor. “When he wakes, I will have saved his life. I will have destroyed that race of monsters. And I will be true heir to the throne!”

“You can't kill an entire race!” the duo of heroes yelled at him simultaneously.

“Why not?” he replied with a laugh and a vicious smile. “And what is this newfound love for the Frost Giants, Thor? You who would have killed them all with your bare hands.”

“I've changed,” Thor replied as he hammered Loki's scepter hard enough that the trickster god stumbled, giving Megan the opportunity to sweep in behind him and grapple him with a full-nelson.

Loki snarled and tried to pull himself free, but Megan held strong as she cried out, “Get the scepter!”

The thunder god charged forward to wrest the weapon from Loki's hands but was caught off-guard by Loki blasting him with ice from his left hand. Thankfully, Megan's grapple hold threw his aim off somewhat, so Thor managed to dodge most of the blast, but his right arm and Mjölnir were left a solid block of ice.

“Come at us from behind,” Megan ordered. “He can't aim backwards, and I can melt your arm with my boot thrusters.”

Thor flanked around as he asked, “What in the Allfather's name is a _thruster_?”

“Hardly the time, Thor,” she replied with a groan. “You understood the word 'boot,' right? So get down there!”

Thor threw himself down onto his side, placing the heavy block of ice surrounding his arm by her feet. “Now!”

Megan lifted her right foot onto its toe as high as she could, then activated the boot's thrusters. Thor's arm began to thaw quickly, but Loki took advantage of her sacrificed footing to sweep his own leg backwards, knocking hers out from under her. Unable to maintain her grip, Megan fell to the ground with a cry. The recovered Thor released a battle cry and viciously swung Mjölnir up from the ground into an uppercut aimed at Loki, but the trickster god had already pushed back far enough to dodge the blow.

Megan's repulsors flared, blasting her back to her feet and back towards the dueling gods. _We probably don't have much more time to stop that thing. I need to get that scepter!_

 _So use your brain and make a plan_ , rational-Megan implored.

 _Uh, hello?_ emotional-Megan replied. _We're kinda on a time crunch right now._

_We could have all the time in the world but fail at this rate. We only nabbed him last time because we got lucky. We need a plan!_

_Okay, fine_ , Megan thought to herself as she changed course, veering over the edge of the bridge in order to swoop under it. _Loki was on the side farthest from the Bifrost, but he'll hear me coming if I just charge at him from behind..._ An image came crossed her mind of Hawkeye hanging down from the rafters of Hammer Industries' factory, picking off employees without making a sound. _So come at him silently and from above._ She dipped down further to give herself ramp up time then swooped upwards pushing her repulsors to their maximum flight speed. She shot up into the air above the bridge like a black and gold bullet, twisted just enough to give her a landing trajectory in Loki's vicinity, and immediately cut of all of her repulsors.

The air whistled around her as she hurtled towards the two gods, and she knew in the back of her mind that Asgardians had superior hearing, which meant that Loki could hear her approaching. _Trick the trickster_ , she said to herself as she extended her hands, which she prepared to fire, and her legs straight out to her sides in a split. _Time it just right..._ Thor swung Mjölnir at Loki's side. _Now!_ Megan cried internally, knowing Loki would dodge backwards. As Loki dodged backwards, he heard Megan's repulsors flare to life but couldn't tell which direction she was moving to or firing at, as they were all facing opposite directions. Still airborne, he couldn't turn in time to know where to dodge next, so he had to take a chance. He landed and immediately dodged left. A repulsor blast slammed into his right arm and knocked the scepter from his grasp and over the right side of the bridge as another repulsor blast simultaneously flew past him on his right.

As Loki fell off the side of the bridge, he twisted around to see his attacker and realized that he had been tricked when he saw her posture in the air. Megan had fired repulsor blasts from both of her hands while masking their approach by also activating her boot repulsors, which didn't throw off her aim because they had canceled each other out by facing opposite directions. He closed his eyes in reluctant acceptance of his defeat and his inevitable fall into the abyss.

Megan burst into full speed towards her right, snagging the scepter, but as she twisted back to fly after Loki, she heard Thor cry out, “No! Don't do it!” A moment later, Loki was swallowed by the abyss.

 _That could have been me too_ , Megan thought to herself in a cold sweat. “Thanks for the warning,” she called out to her battle partner.

“The Bifrost! _Hurry_!” was Thor's reply.

She immediately brought her repulsors to life and shot towards the great bridge like a bullet. She had seen Loki activate it before; she knew what to do. In quick motion, she skidded to a halt by the control mechanism and slipped the base of the scepter into it. The Bifrost shut down. “We did it,” she breathed out in relief as Thor reached her side.

“We did,” he murmured. “I only wish it my brother's life had not been the cost.”

Megan's faceplate snapped up as she turned to the thunder god and gave him an earnest look of sorrow. “Thor, I... I'm sorry I wasn't quicker.”

He shook his head. “You have naught to be sorry for. I feared that I would have to destroy the Bifrost in order to stop it, and had I fought alone, that surely would have been the result.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “Together, we did what alone we could not. You once again have my thanks, Lady Megan.”

“And you have my thanks as well, Midgardian,” a voice from off to their side said. The duo turned as one and found that the speaker had been none other than the Allfather. “Together, you have prevented the end of an entire race.”

 _It's an odd thing_ , Megan decided, _to stand before someone who was literally revered as a god — who may the closest thing there is to one. How are you supposed to act? Speak? Move?_

 _I recommend you be yourself_ , emotional-Megan answered.

 _For once, a solid idea_ , rational-Megan quipped back.

“You don't need to thank me,” she replied honestly. “I was just doing the right thing.”

The aged Odin favored her with a soft smile. “And _that_ , child, is why you could wield Mjölnir.”

* * *

**Monday, May 30th, 2004 @ 11:22a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

“And that's how my Sunday went,” Megan replied with a lopsided grin, causing Bruce to groan and palm his face.

“For once, I think I agree with Fury,” he replied. “You're the world's worst trouble magnet.”

“Oh Bruce, that was never in question,” she quipped back with a giggle. “Now then. I've been itching to build the Mark V since yesterday. Time to get started,” she announced as clapped her hands together and turned on her heel to head down to the basement. Before she took a step forward, she glanced over her shoulder at Bruce with a sultry look. “That is, unless you can convince me otherwise.”

A huge smile broke out over Bruce's face as he quickly stood and swept her up into his arms, eliciting a brief squeal from her. “I'll see what I can do.”


	13. Interlude Two: Thankful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

**Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
 _Interlude Two: Thankful_

“A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself.”

Joseph Campbell

* * *

**Saturday, July 4th, 1987 @ 08:58p | Stark Residence**

“Hey, Pumpkin,” Howard Stark said as he knocked on his daughter’s half open door. “Ready for your bedtime story?”

“Uh huh!” the still exuberant Megan brightly replied from her four poster, twin-sized bed, clad in her usual red, quite plain nightgown. As Howard stepped into the room, he once again uttered a silent ‘thank you’ that his seven-year-old hadn’t insisted on much change in decoration after they began allowing her to express herself. If he was honest with himself, one of the main reasons he had insisted on adopting a young boy all those years ago was his secret fear that either his wife Maria or his hypothetical adopted daughter would insist on room that consisted primarily of the color pink. He had seen more than enough sitcoms with young girl characters that owned such rooms, and he had wanted to avoid such a room within his own home. Blessedly, Megan’s room still bore a paint job just a few shades lighter than sky blue.

In fact, when one took a moment to compare Megan to her five-year-old self, surprisingly little had changed. She still monkeyed around with his tools and electronics, absorbed frightening amounts of knowledge, and was still extremely shy around anyone other than her parents and — when he was around — Obadiah. Now, she just happened to wear girls’ clothing (Thankfully her burgeoning fashion sense was much tamer than what she had worn for her sixth birthday. Clearly she had been acting out, in her own way, back then and had not actually thought such attire was legitimately appropriate.) and, most importantly, was clearly _much_ happier than she had ever been before.

“So!” Howard said with a smile as he plopped down into the adult-sized chair near her bed, which was primarily kept there for story time and, on occasion, serious discussions when she got herself into trouble doing the crazy things children were wont to do. “What story would you like tonight, hm?” Even though he was always very busy with work, he made a point to always spend holidays like today with his family and give Megan her bedtime story each night. Maria handled most of the day-to-day matters, but he insisted on being at least _some_ part of his daughter’s youth.

“Captain America’s first mission!” she gushed out, bouncing up and down with excitement as she crushingly hugged one of her stuffed toys, a bright yellow star with a face reminiscent of a smiley, against her chest.

 _Well, that’s another thing that never changed_ , he thought to himself as he thought of what she wore to the local fireworks display earlier that evening. Maria had helped her secure all the pieces of it: a pleated skirt with alternating red and white pleats, a blue baby-doll style t-shirt with a white star in the middle of the chest, matching dark brown leather gloves and ankle boots, and the pièce de résistance, a plastic replica of the Captain’s famous shield. “Ah, a classic,” he replied with a chuckle. “But first! Did you put your gloves, boots, and shield where Mommy told you?”

“Of course!” Megan replied with a giggle. “Mommy told me to put them on the bottom shelf of my closet, so I wouldn’t lose them before Halloween! Put them in there first thing!”

“Ah, good, good. Well then! The tale of Captain America’s first mission; definitely an appropriate bedtime story for the Fourth of July. It all happened a little over forty years ago, on November 3rd, 1943. The Captain came out to Italy, where I was at the time, to help the troops’ morale by performing in one of the USO shows he had become famous for. But! He soon discovered that some of the men from the 107th division had been killed in a recent battle and that others had been captured by the nefarious Hydra! The Captain was compelled to act and told Ms. Carter, one of my dear old friends, that he was going to go rescue those men. She brought him to yours truly, and I flew us all over to the base where Hydra was keeping the men. He parachuted down to the base, rescued the captured men, and with their help, he destroyed the facility! From that day on, he and his Howling Commandos fought back against the Nazis and Hydra, and in the end, they saved the world from the evil of Hydra and their leader, the Red Skull.”

Howard, who had been animatedly recounting the old war story, focused his attention on Megan once more. To his consternation, she was still wide awake. _Ah well, she_ did _have a pretty exciting day._

“Daddy?” Megan softly asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Do you think they’ll ever find him?”

“I don’t know,” he replied with a sad smile. “I looked for him for a long time, but I never found him.” He eyed her inquisitively before asking, “Why do you ask?”

The seven-year-old scoffed indignantly. “Because he’s a hero, of course! You’ve always told me about how honorable and caring he was and how he made people want to follow him.” She smiled sadly, unconsciously mimicking her father. “Captain America was a hero. He deserves a hero’s funeral.”

“Well said, princess,” Howard responded, smiling fondly as he pulled himself up onto his feet, doing his best to ignore the aged feeling that pervaded his bones. _She’s growing up so fast, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s a good thing. Maria and I are getting old; we won’t be around forever. She needs to be strong to succeed in this world. Why did we wait so long to get onboard the “parenthood” train?_

Megan preened at being called a princess and graciously allowed him to tuck her in, despite still feeling wide awake. “Good night, Daddy,” she murmured as he reached her door.

Howard turned to face her, his face still bearing its smile. “Goodnight, Megan.”

Darkness enveloped the room as he clicked off the light and shut the door behind him. There was no night light; Megan had proudly informed her parents a few months back that she didn’t need one anymore, since she knew there was rationally no reason to fear the dark. _Sure, I can’t see anything in the dark, but it’s not like there’s a monster under my bed or in my closet! Those kids on the TV are just silly._ She laid there in her bed, her thoughts racing as she thought of all the fun she had that day and of what the Fourth meant to her country. Eventually, her thoughts returned to Captain America, her Father’s friend and the man who had risked his life and lost it in the end — all to make the world safe for people like her. Her last thought before sleep finally overcame her was, _I hope they find him someday. I want to thank him in person — even if it’s at his grave._


	14. Chapter Eleven: Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_“And that's how my Sunday went,” Megan replied with a lopsided grin, causing Bruce to groan and palm his face._

_“For once, I think I agree with Fury,” he replied. “You're the world's worst trouble magnet.”_

_“Oh Bruce, that was never in question,” she quipped back with a giggle. “Now then. I've been itching to build the Mark V since yesterday. Time to get started,” she announced as clapped her hands together and turned on her heel to head down to the basement. Before she took a step forward, she glanced over her shoulder at Bruce with a sultry look. “That is, unless you can convince me otherwise.”_

_A huge smile broke out over Bruce's face as he quickly stood and swept her up into his arms, eliciting a brief squeal from her. “I'll see what I can do.”_

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Chapter Eleven: Bonds_

“The bond that links your true family is not blood, but of respect and joy in each other’s life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.”

Richard Bach

* * *

**Monday, March 14th, 2005 @ 04:04a, EST | Shady alley, NYC**

_Just remember, this is an ideal location for a meeting_ , Jasper Sitwell thought to himself as he entered the alley and glanced around at his surroundings with obvious distaste as he checked for the presence of anyone other than his contact. _Well, really I’m looking for anyone, since I shouldn’t be able to see him, even if he were here._ Satisfied that the alley was empty, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent turned to face the only entrance to the alley, twisted a knob on the side of his watch face — discretely activating the device inside it that blocked visual and audio surveillance technology within an area of effect large enough to cover an entire block — and then withdrew a file from within his jacket and held it before himself.

Immediately, an arm appeared out of thin air, the file clasped in hand as its owner reached around Sitwell to grasp it. Instinct took over as Sitwell became a flurry of motion, attempting to pull the file away as his other hand made a dash for the silenced pistol at his waist and his body twisted to face the person behind him. Neither of his hands succeeded in grabbing anything more than the air, and as he finished turning about face, he found an armored figure waiting with the file and pistol in his hands.

Sitwell paled. _He’s_ good, the agent noted as he fought to restore his calm as he analyzed the figure who must be his contact — the Ghost. The man’s armor was primarily a brilliant, bright as snow white color with accents of varying shades of gray for his shoulders and other various joints. Even the eye sockets of the armor were pure white, revealing no trace of the man’s irises or pupils. In fact, the sockets themselves probably would not have noticeable but for the gray triangles outlining them, their points directed at the ground. Possibly the most out of place section of the armor, he decided, was the snow white hood that partially obscured the face. _There really isn’t any need for that when he can make himself invisible to human perception and all sensors._

“The watch is a nice touch,” the Ghost’s heavily distorted voice announced, his volume barely above a whisper, “but I’ve already handled it.”

To his credit, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had recovered completely by the time he responded, no fear detectable in his speech. “Of course.”

The incarnate specter adjusted his grip on the pistol so he could use both hands as he opened the file he had taken. “Stark?” he said after taking a glance at the information contained within.

“Everything is in the file,” Sitwell retorted before abruptly turning back to the alley’s exit and departing.

* * *

**Monday, March 14th, 2005 @ 02:42p, EST | Stark Tower, NYC**

Megan smiled softly as she glanced around the penthouse suite of Stark Tower, carefully checking the details of its contents for anything out of place. Like her home back in Malibu, its sparse furnishings gave it a minimalist atmosphere, but what it did contain made it much cozier. Three thin metal bars — the bases of holographic monitors — and a simple table crafted from dark wood provided space for minor work related activities, such as research and video conferencing. Anything more involved would be handled in the ten floors of R&D space directly below the suite. Off to the side of the spacious room was a mini bar with no stools which — in combination with the nearby creamy white, half-circle couches placed in a circle around a large coffee table — was all she would need for any Stark Industries business meetings that would require a personal touch from her directly. The room was lit both with small, intermittently spaced-out lights as well as a chandelier whose many rectangular lights resembled a snow flake when viewed from below. The doorway to hers and Bruce’s adjoining private space was discrete and nigh impossible to find unless one knew what to look for. The doorway that led to the emergency stairwell was distinctly less discrete in the interest of safety. Large, floor to ceiling glass windows provided a wonderful view of the city, which she could view without the glass barrier from the exterior launch platform that housed the pieces of her latest armor, the Mark V, which she had designed the year before in Puente Antiguo.

“It’s prefect,” the pleased Megan declared, giving the nearby foreman a small nod of approval. “Do you happen to know when the generator will be ready?”

“Last I heard from your company’s team, the generator will be done around an hour, but you should ask them directly,” the foreman replied.

“No need. Pepper mentioned earlier today that they’d told her pretty much the same thing.” _I already did the heavy lifting and underwater work, so all they have to do is turn it on when they’re done._

“Miss Stark,” the voice of Jarvis, her AI companion, rang out, “Philly is on the line for you. He says it’s urgent.”

Megan dismissed the foreman with a quick, “That’ll be all, thanks,” as she pulled out her phone to take the on-hold call. Once the elevator doors had closed around him, she answered the call with a tone altogether different from the one she had used moments before. “This is Iron, Philly. What’s up?”

There was a brief pause before Phil released an exasperated sigh. “How you can sound so serious when you call me _that_ is a mystery,” the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent replied. “We need you to come to our NYC site off of Times Square as soon as possible. Please wear casual clothes that are comfortable for walking around town. Don’t bring the suit; this needs to be discrete. We’ll brief you when you get here.”

The genius inventor’s eyebrows unconsciously rose. “O…kay? You’ve officially got me intrigued. I know the address already; it’s just a couple of blocks away. I’ll be there in ten. Meet me in the lobby.” As she hung up the call with Phil, Megan called out, “Jarvis, get me Pep on the line, would you? Put her through the speakers.”

“Right away, ma’am,” the AI intoned in reply as she strode into the private area and made her way to hers and Bruce’s bedroom to change. She wasn’t dressed for business by any stretch of the imagination, but the March air of New York had a harsher bite than that of Malibu, where she had come from that morning.

“Megan?” Pepper’s voice rang through the speakers of the suite as she answered her phone. “You know I’m just downstairs, right? Too lazy to come down and see me?”

“Well,” Megan answered as she pulled the light, long-sleeved shirt she had been wearing off, “you’re not wrong. I know you’re on the ninth floor, and ordinarily, I would sooner call you than expend the energy to go downstairs. Riding in elevators is so _draining_ on my energy.” She pulled on a new long-sleeved shirt that was much warmer than the one she had on previously. “ _But_ as it so happens, I got an urgent call, so I’m heading out to take care of it. Business casual, nothing fancy.”

“Okay, but why would y— Oh. Oh!” Pepper replied, eventually realizing what Megan was leaving unsaid: ‘S.H.I.E.L.D. needs me. It’s not dangerous enough for me to need the suit.’ “I’ll, uh, see you later then?”

“Yup. I’ll let you know when. Bye,” she quipped back, leaving the actual hanging up to Jarvis as she peeled off her sneakers and full length yoga pants and replaced them with a warm pair of skinny style, light brown corduroys and a pair of Uggs. _I wonder what’s so urgent but requires “casual” clothing? They’ve never specified attire for anything before, much less something urgent._ Last, but not least, she retrieved her red, fitted North Face jacket and matching winter gloves and earmuffs from her closet. Finally prepared to brave the winter air of New York, she grabbed her phone from where she’d dropped it on her bed and made her way to the elevator.

* * *

“Megan, thank you for coming on such short notice,” Phil said in greeting as Megan entered the facility.

“You _did_ say it was urgent, Philly,” Megan replied as she slipped her earmuffs from over her ears to around her neck and stored her gloves in her jacket’s pockets. “Can we brief here, or…?”

“Here is fine,” Phil said as he led the way to a nearby elevator. “Practically everyone in the building knows about him at this point, in light of the stunt he pulled off earlier today.”

“Well don’t keep me in suspense then! Who is this mysterious ‘he’ of whom you speak, hm?”

The elevator door chimed as it opened, and the duo stepped in. “Captain America,” he simply replied as he pressed the button for the floor the super soldier was on.

Megan’s eyebrows rose at that and, after a second’s thought over his exact wording, quipped back in a carefully controlled tone, “I’m sorry, are you telling me we not only found Captain America and he’s _alive_?”

“That’s right. An excavation team found the ‘Valkyrie,’ the war plane the Red Skull built during WWII, and Captain Rogers was still in it, encased in a solid block of ice and somehow still alive. He’s currently here on site. Directory Fury had hoped to ease him into the knowledge about the time gap by having him wake up in a ‘40s style hospital, but the Captain noticed an… oversight right away and didn’t take it very well. He fled the set we’d made, attacked the two guards we had posted outside, and made out of the building directly into the middle of Times Square before we caught him. We believe he suspected a Hydra trap, but we’re not sure.”

The elevator dinged once more as the pair reached the target floor. “You say you’re ‘not sure.’ You’d know for sure if he was talking to you, so clearly he clammed up. Ah, you’re hoping I can get him talking then? Since he was friends with my dad? That would explain the request for ‘casual clothes.’ You’re probably hoping to disassociate me from yourselves, at least until he’s ready to cooperate.”

“You’re right,” Phil acknowledged. “Talk to him, show around the town — whatever works.”

“Be frank with me, Philly,” Megan murmured as she glanced around the corridor they were, making sure no one was listening too closely to their conversation. “What’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s endgame here? I know the Avengers project was scrapped, but are you trying to recruit him?”

Phil frowned but nevertheless whispered back, “It’s on the table. All of this is very up in the air at the moment. But I can tell you that he’s my personal hero, so at the very least, I would personally be grateful if you could just give him a sense of stability. He’s a war hero. He’s earned that much.”

Megan laughed, her voice returning to normal volume. “Oh, trust me, I’m well aware he’s a war hero. One couldn’t possibly grow up in my dad’s household without hearing every war story about Captain America.” She gave him a wide grin. “And I _do_ owe you a favor from back in the day, so now we’re even.”

“Fair enough,” Phil replied with a slight smile as the duo reached the room where Steve was being temporarily housed. “He’s in here. Good luck, Meg.”

She blinked. “I’m fairly certain that is the first time you’ve ever called me ‘Meg,’ Philly.” She gave him an appraising look for a moment before declaring with certainty, “You should do it more often. We’re friends, after all.”

Phil’s smile definitely grew, but he made no comment, simply giving her an affable nod and departing. Megan turned her attention back to the task at hand as she unzipped her jacket, which was beginning to make her too warm, and shrugged it off. Clutching the article of clothing in her left hand, she steeled her nerves against the sudden appearance of butterflies in her stomach and rapped the knuckles of her right hand against the door as she called out loud enough to be heard through the door, “May I come in?”

“Yeah,” a distinctly morose yet nevertheless firm voice answered, “you may as well.”

She frowned at his reply. “See, you say that, but it’s pretty obvious you don’t want me to come in. May I ask why? Wouldn’t want to offend you. First impressions, blah blah.”

After a moment, she heard the soft whine of a mattress coils being relieved of pressure and, subsequently, footsteps over to the door. The man who answered the door was clearly Steve Rogers, every detail of his appearance matching her father’s descriptions and photos. Megan self-consciously took a step back, caught off guard. _He looks exactly the same as he did sixty years ago… Encased in a block of ice or not, one would think something about his appearance would indicate the passage of time._

An expression briefly flashed across Steve’s face that she couldn’t place and, a moment later, he repentantly murmured, “My apologies, Miss. I’ve had a rough day.”

Megan blinked in confusion. “Wait, back up a sec. I must’ve missed the part where I was supposed to be offended. Mind cluing me in?”

The super soldier was momentarily bewildered by her unfamiliar, modern manner of speech, but then he answered, “I was rude when you asked to come in.”

“Oh, no worries. We all have rough days,” she replied utterly unconcerned. “Well, granted, you’ve had one _hell_ of a rough day, but you know what I mean.”

Her flippant use of the word ‘hell’ made him flinch, but he didn’t comment on it, chalking it up as a quirk society had become accustomed at some point while he was frozen. “I couldn’t help but overhear you and ‘Philly’ talking before you came in. Is ‘Meg’ short for ‘Megan’?”

“Mhm,” Megan acknowledged as she smothered a giggle ( _Philly’s totally going to flip when his hero calls him that!_ ). She stuck out her hand. “My name’s Megan Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain Rogers.”

Steve shook her hand, his expression brightening at the mention of her last name. “Stark? You wouldn’t happen to be related to Howard Stark, would you?”

She favored him with a smile. “You nailed it. I’m his daughter.”

He eyed her speculatively. “You must take after your mother more than him. Not to offend you, but spare your… partially black hair (He eyed the red highlights in her hair with a dubious expression.), you don’t really favor him much.”

Megan laughed pleasantly as she strode over to a pair of nearby chairs and draped her jacket on the back of one of them, completely missing that her laughter had unwittingly caused Steve to blush faintly. “I’m adopted, actually. No blood relation whatsoever to either of my parents, so any similarity between them and me is purely a coincidence.”

“Oh. I’m sorry if that was a bad topic,” he replied awkwardly. _Well, that’s one thing that apparently hasn’t changed. Beautiful women can still make me act like a fool._

“So apologetic! It’s rather cute,” she quipped, oblivious to the thoughts she was evoking in Steve. “Mind if we sit while we chat?” she asked, gesturing at the chairs.

“No, no. Not at all,” he answered, moving over to take the seat that didn’t have her jacket draped on it. “May I… May I ask how your father is?”

A somber air developed around her as she replied, “He’s… Dad is dead.”

Steve sighed mournfully. “I figured that was the case, but… Thank you for confirming it.” He paused for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Your father was a great man and a great friend, Megan. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she responded with a wistful smile. “Really. Hearing that from you, one of his friends, means a lot to me.” She turned away from him to gaze at the light streaming in through a nearby window, a contemplative look in her eyes. “You said you could hear what I said to Phil earlier. I wasn’t kidding, you know; Dad shared all of his stories of you with me. He thought the world of you. He never did tell me how long he searched the ocean, hoping to find you, but I know he did for quite a while.”

He too turned his eyes towards the light from the window, a faraway look in them. Neither said anything for a time as they both lost themselves in their thoughts. Eventually, Megan broke the silence. “Ready to learn about how to survive in the new millennium?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Steve replied with a grimace.

“C’mon then, let’s stretch those legs of yours with a walk. You haven’t used them for six decades, so you could use the exercise,” she pronounced with a light laugh as she grabbed her jacket and his hand and hopped up from her seat, gently dragging him along. As she was facing away from him, she once again missed the light blush that crossed his features.

* * *

“So! The first and probably most important thing you need to know,” Megan said once the duo had secured warmer clothes for Steve and subsequently bundled themselves up, “is that modern technology is _much_ more advanced than the technology available during the ‘40s.” She pulled out her cellphone, deciding to use it as a demonstration. “This is a cellphone, also known as a mobile phone. It doesn’t need a wire connection to a phone line in order to work.” She grinned as a look of awe appeared on his face. “Oh, don’t worry: It gets better. This is also a computer that is so far ahead of the computers of the ‘40s that it isn’t even fair to compare them.”

Doing her best to not constantly giggle at Steve’s baffled expression, she gestured at an internet café they were passing. “Probably the most important tool of this day and age is the internet. It’s a worldwide network that allows people to communicate with one another and share information and opinions. There are lots of ways you can access the internet, such as an internet café (She gestured at one nearby.), one’s computer, some cellphones, etc.” With practiced ease, Megan pulled up the internet browser she developed for personal use and held the phone at an angle Steve could see as they walked down the fortunately somewhat clear sidewalk. “Here are some ways you can use it,” she said as she went to websites one by one, describing what they did. “You can catch up on news ranging from local to international, check weather forecasts, research topics you don’t know much about (“This is particularly important for you, Steve.”), write letters to a friend on the other side of the globe that they’ll receive in minutes, play games, watch videos… There’s little you can’t do.”

“Wow…” Steve breathed out in admiration at the sheer capability of this one invention.

The pair continued aimlessly traversing the NYC streets as Megan continued to inform him about how the world had changed in his absence and answered the horde of questions he had for her. Eventually, she called a timeout for the sake of dinner and dragged the super soldier to a pizza store. After she bought the pair a whole pie, ignoring Steve’s protests about not needing to spend money on him (“Well you don’t exactly have a money of your own at the moment do you? Besides, I’m a billionaire. I think I can afford to pay your way on a pizza!”), they made their way out of the crowded store to lean against the exterior wall and eat their food.

“Honestly, I’m sorely tempted to buy you a phone,” Megan said after swallowing a bite from her current slice, “but I suspect S.H.I.E.L.D. will happily hook you up with one. We’ll have to ask when I take you back. You’ll definitely need one.”

“If you say so,” Steve said, still feeling somewhat boggled at the concept of her being a billionaire ( _A ‘billionaire’? At least Howard finally got the success he wanted._ ) and likewise anticipating that any protests he made about her buying him something would be summarily ignored once more.

She opened her mouth to poke fun at him for giving up so easily, her eyes sparkling with mischief, but before she could say anything, someone stopped on the sidewalk in front of the pair and asked, “Excuse me. You’re Megan Stark, right?”

 _Well, someone was bound to notice who I was sooner or later._ She turned her gaze from her companion of the afternoon to the newcomer and found a very dirty teenaged boy with somewhat choppily cut brown hair who was dressed in battered and worn clothes. “Guilty as charged,” she simply answered before waiting for the boy to continue.

“I wanted to thank you.”

“O…kay,” she replied, caught off guard. “May I ask what I did?”

“You…” the boy started to say before trailing off for a moment. He glanced at Steve briefly with an air of curiousness before returning his gaze to her and continuing. “You gave me the courage to tell my parents I’m really a boy.”

A distinctly confused look came over Steve’s face, but Megan understood, a silent ‘oh’ on her lips. _I’ve never even met someone like me before, much less someone who would walk up to me and declare that I’m the reason they came out!_ She gave the super solider a furtive look that he missed but caused the young boy’s expression to become curious once more. _What would his reaction be to this? There’s no doubt that being openly trans was taboo back then, and I really don’t want to make a scene._ “I don’t know what to say,” she mutter, deciding that was the safest response. “This is the first time I’ve met someone I’ve… inspired like that.” _It_ is _true._

“You’re kidding, right?” he replied with a distinctly boyish grin that she found endearing. “Folks like us were awe-struck when you came out on live TV! You’re a celebrity!” He laughed, noticing his slipup. “I mean, of course you’re a _celebrity_ , but you know what I mean.”

Megan flushed prettily at the boy’s compliment with a small smile on her face, entirely missing Steve’s raised eyebrows as she asked, “What’s your name, honey?”

“ _Danny_ Weitzel,” he proudly declared, the emphasis on his chosen name not escaping Megan’s notice.

“That’s a fine name,” she replied innocuously, hoping her super soldier companion wouldn’t catch on to what she was really saying. Her eyes were drawn to the state of his clothing once more, an awful thought occurring to her. “I’m sorry, Danny, but I have to ask: How did your parents take it?”

The dark expression that came over him so quickly that it surprised both Megan and Steve. “They disowned me.” She hesitated, unsure whether to proceed, but after a moment, Danny answered her unspoken question anyway. “I’ve been living on the street. The shelters don’t want to take me in when I tell them the truth, and it’s the same for getting a job. None of my family, immediate or extended, wants to help either.” When his eyes began to lightly tear up, he locked his gaze on his shoes. “I lived a lie for fifteen years. I don’t want to lie anymore, even if it makes everything harder.”

A small growl escaped Megan’s lips before she could stop herself. “This is _unacceptable_!” she fiercely declared. She reached forward and carefully tilted his chin up until she was staring into his eyes. “Do you know how to get to Stark Tower from here?”

Danny blinked at her non sequitur. “The complex you’re building near Times Square?”

“Just finished, actually, but yeah, that’s the one.”

“Uh, yeah, I know how to get there. Why do you want to know?”

“Good,” she answered. “Go there now. I’m going to call ahead and arrange some clean clothes, a shower, and a job for you. You can stay in one of the guest suites until you can find an apartment.”

“Wait a second,” Steve suddenly interjected. “Is this where you live? You’re going to let someone you literally _just_ met stay in your home?”

Megan snapped her head in Steve’s direction and locked her gaze onto his, a fire in her blue eyes. “You’re goddamn right I am. Have a problem with that, Rogers?”

The super soldier’s mouth opened and closed several times as he made efforts to reply that all failed. Meanwhile, Danny’s glanced nervously back and forth between the duo for a moment before replying, “Miss Stark, I really can’t acc—”

“Just Megan,” she offhandedly interrupted before turning her blazing eyes to him. “And I’m not taking no for an answer. I inspired you to act, and you’ve inspired me to act. Fair is fair.”

The young transboy glanced at Steve, who had still not managed to formulate a reply, once more before replying, “O-okay. T-thank you very much! I’ll, uh, see you there then?”

“Definitely. ‘Til then.”

As Danny ran off, an unmistakable skip in his step, Steve finally managed to say, “What on earth just happened here?”

“Hold that thought,” Megan distractedly replied as she pulled out her phone and manually speed-dialed Pepper. _No sense in adding to his confusion by talking to Jarvis._

Two rings later, Pepper answered the call. “Meg, are you done with S.H.I.E.L.D.? Everything okay?”

The obvious concern in her friend’s voice elicited a small, soft smile from the petite genius. “No, and kinda. Nothing bad has happened with work, but I ran into a boy…” She gave Steve a furtive glance. “… like me while I was out, and he needs some help getting back on his feet. I’ve sent him over to the Tower. Would you please set him up in one of the guest suites when he gets there? He needs some clothes and a job too. He’s… Err… Ugh, I’m not really good with guessing men’s sizes… Let’s go with adult small shirts and 28 by 30 pants? He’s kinda thin but he’s taller than me by an inch or two. As for the job, it needs to be good enough pay for him to afford an apartment, food, and living and personal expenses. Be generous on the personal expenses. And, ah, I’m not sure whether he’s trying to be stealth, so avoid discussing that, okay? I’ll ask him later.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Megan, this is all awfully generous… Are you sure about this?”

“Positive. Long story short, I’m part of the reason he’s in a bad situation. I have to go, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll handle it,” Pepper firmly replied. “Good luck with… Whatever it is you’re doing.”

Megan giggled as some of her tension began to fade away. “Roger! I’m out!”

As she hung up, Steve spoke. “Would you please explain what just happened?”

She cringed, her tension beginning to return. _I actually forgot about him for a second there. Danny definitely said enough to spark curiosity about me…_ “What exactly has you confused, Steve?”

He gave her a look. “‘You gave me the courage to tell my parents I’m really a boy.’ ‘Folks like us,’” he quoted. “What exactly does that mean?”

She watched him carefully as she replied, “How about you tell me what _you_ think it means, and _I’ll_ tell you if you’re on the right track.”

“Danny seemed to be implying his parents did not think of him as a boy,” Steve began, “but I don’t understand why not.” He took in her distinctly feminine appearance once more before continuing, “Also, he seemed to be implying you were in a similar situation, but I don’t see the connection.”

Megan nodded, doing her best to hide her tension. “Yes, he was implying both of those things.”

He waited for her to explain the parts he had said he didn’t understand, but she just gazed at him expectantly, waiting for him to say more. He frowned at that before directly asking his first question, “Why don’t Danny’s parents see him as a boy?”

His companion sighed before replying, “I could just say they have a different definition of what it means to be a ‘boy,’ but you’ll just ask me what I mean by that, so let’s just cut to the chase.” She paused for a moment, debating the exact words to use. “I’m technically speculating on the _exact_ facts of his situation, but I think it’s safe to say that his parents feel he is a girl, likely because of his body. Danny, however, feels he is a boy in spite of his body.”

“So Danny is a girl but wants to be a boy?”

Megan frowned. “Some people would see it that way, but Danny and I would argue he _is_ a boy despite what his parents think.”

He grimaced as he began to understand what all this implied about her. “And when Danny implied you were in a similar situation, he meant…”

 _Here we go, then._ Please _let him take this well…_ “That I am a woman, but some people would argue I’m a man,” she finished for him.

Steve abruptly pushed off of the wall and handed her the pizza box he’d been holding for her. “Thank you for your help today, Megan. I think I can find my way back from here.”

 _So much for that._ “Steve,” Megan started to say, hoping to diffuse the situation but the super soldier had already walked off at a blistering pace. “ _Fuck_ ,” she mumbled to herself as she pulled out her phone. “Jarvis, call Phil, please.”

* * *

**Friday, September 20th, 2004 @ 04:04p, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

_I’ve found it! I’ve isolated the correct gene!_ Basil mentally cheered as the lab rat carefully stepped forward towards the cheese at the exact pace he was mentally commanding it to, each step occurring precisely when he willed it. _And to think they thought I couldn’t find it… Well, I’ve proved them wrong!_ The black-haired scientist used his mind to tell the rat it could move freely, then he carefully removed the blue helmet he had designed for testing the genes he isolated from the Leader’s DNA and set it aside.

Basil had led the team collecting data from Samuel Sterns’ body from day one, but the other scientists had completed their final analyses months ago. Even the man he had assigned to researching Sterns’ telepathic capability had finished, asserting he could not determine how the telepathy had been performed and that it therefore could not be replicated. Basil had felt there was more testing to be done in that area and said as much during his review of his underling’s work, but his own superior had overruled him. _Just thinking about that makes me feel sour_ , he angrily thought to himself. _Why couldn’t she see that, as the team leader, I was in a better position to make the decision? She should have left control of the situation with me._

But Basil had not argued that point very much, however, as he’d had his own problem to deal with at the time: That same superior had also wanted him to conclude his own work: Replicating Sterns’ ability to control others. He had to vehemently argue in favor of continuing his tests and call in all the favors he was owed him at the time in order to keep his project open. His coworkers had ultimately written him off as obsessed but thankfully left him to his work. _A blessing in disguise really_ , he thought to himself as he jotted down some notes regarding the experiment. _I barely have any oversight at this point, since they all thought this was a pointless endeavor._ Once he finished, he retrieved the mouse — who had been happily eating the cheese Basil had allowed him to eat — from the experiment area, removed the miniature disc, and returned him to the cage with his other lab rats.

The helmet and disc setup Basil had created was not on the same level of functionality as Sterns’ original ability, but it worked nevertheless. His security clearance was limited enough that he only had the barest details of the encounter where at least one S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had slain the villain, but it appeared that had been able to control anyone as soon as he touched them. He was able to replicate the effect through his helmet and discs, but the discs — which he had taken to calling ‘slave discs’ — had to maintain contact with the target in order for the control effect to take hold.

Basil moved over to his monitor and keyboard, preparing to create an electronic record of his success that day, but paused. _If I tell my superiors about this, then they’ll probably take credit for the success themselves. It would be so easy to lie and say they had gone against procedure and allowed him to continue because they had seen promise in the project._ This was easily his greatest scientific achievement, and the thought of it being out of his control bothered him significantly. _But what would_ I _do with it?_ he pondered. _It’d be a shame to let this discovery go to waste…_ A wicked idea struck him, leaving his mouth dry.

 _I could use it on_ them _._

* * *

**Monday, March 14th, 2005 @ 06:33p, EST | Outside the S.H.I.E.L.D. NYC Site near Times Square**

_I can’t believe it_ , Steve thought to himself as he approached the building where he’d woken up after sixty years of sleep. _How… How can she_ not _be a woman? Is there some sign I’m missing because I’m behind on everything? Nothing about her appearance nor anything she said or did hinted at her being a… a_ man _._

He sighed as he stopped his approach to the building and leaned against a wall, deciding to give himself a brief personal break before he headed in. _Even without that last part, this has all been just_ too much _. Everything is so different now_ , he thought to himself, feeling distinctly out of place in the modern world he was now in. He spent a few moments attempting to calm his thoughts and thankfully succeeded somewhat. _What would really help is seeing someone I know that’s still alive._ He glanced at the inconspicuous building housing the intelligence agency that had, more or less, rescued him from his impromptu cryo sleep. _They would know, but going in there might mean facing Megan again, and I’m not ready for that yet._ His thoughts began to center around the, if he was being honest with himself, attractive child of his friend Howard Stark.

His eyes widened as their earlier discussion about the internet swam through his thoughts.

_“There are lots of ways you can access the internet, such as an internet café… Here are some ways you can use it… research topics you don’t know much about (“This is particularly important for you, Steve.”)…”_

His eyes began to survey the nearby shops, looking for the type of store she had mentioned before. “There,” he murmured to himself as he located what he was fairly confident was an ‘internet café.’ He pushed off the wall and strode over to it with a purpose. As he entered, he gazed around and noted the presence of a cash register. _I don’t have any money though_ , Steve thought to himself as he realized the flaw in his plan. He morosely turned to leave and found a man in a suit standing behind him.

“You can pay with this, Captain Rogers,” the man said without invitation as he handed Steve what he vaguely recalled was a ‘credit card,’ the same tool Megan had used to pay for the pizza earlier. _I know that voice. This must be Philly._

“‘Philly,’ right?” he replied as he accepted the rectangular piece of plastic. “Thank you.”

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose in consternation. “Just Phil is fine, thanks. And it’s no problem. Megan called ahead to let me know you might have some questions and that she had told you about internet cafés earlier, so you might seek one out.”

Steve groaned, both because he had forgotten that she could use her ‘cellphone’ to call people while outside and because he had the distinct impression he’d committed a faux pas with how he’d ended his last conversation with her (even if he’d been caught severely off guard) and had hoped to rectify the situation before word got around. _Well, maybe there’s one perk to this:_ “Do you have any suggestions about where to start my… research?”

“Well,” he replied as he pulled out a pen and paper and began to write down something, “if you’re planning to research the topic you were discussing with her before you left, then you should start by going to this website and typing this into the search box.” He tore off the piece of paper he’d been writing on, which was said ‘google.com’ and ‘transgender,’ and handed it together with a phone he retrieved from his pocket to Steve. “The phone is for ease of contact. Hold the number 2 if you need to contact me or the number 3 if you need to contact Megan.”

“Thank you very much for your help,” the super soldier said as he accepted the items. As Phil departed the store, Steve turned his attention back to the cash register and prepared to seek help from the staff regarding the exact way on made the internet do the things Megan had showed him earlier. After the staff had set him up with one of the computers and given him an abbreviated explanation of how to use it, he awkwardly typed in the address ‘google.com’ and hit the ‘enter’ key. _Oh, this looks simple enough_ , he thought to himself once the page’s logo and search box had loaded. He double checked the exact term Phil had written and typed ‘transgender’ into the search field, but before he hit the ‘enter’ key, his noticed the button bearing the label ‘I’m feeling lucky.’ He scoffed. _No, not really._

* * *

**Monday, March 14th, 2005 @ 06:33p, EST | Stark Tower, NYC**

_Well, he was bound to find out sooner or later_ , Megan thought to herself as she crossed the threshold of the automatic doors of her building and began making her way to the side room that housed the elevator reserved for herself and those closest to her — Bruce, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, Clint, and, if he ever came to visit, Phil. _I’ll have to add Danny to that list_ , she mused as she stepped into it. “Hey Jarvis, where are Pepper and Danny at?”

“Good evening, Ms. Stark,” her beloved AI replied. “Miss Potts and Miss Weitzel are together with Mr. Hogan in one of the free guest suites on the ninetieth floor. Shall I take you there?”

“Yes,” she answered. “But update the gender for _Mr_. Danny Weitzel to ‘male.’ He’s transgender like me, so your biological scan for gender is incorrect.”

“My sincerest apologies, ma’am,” Jarvis said as the elevator began to swiftly move. “Dr. Banner and Agent Barton arrived earlier as well and are currently upstairs in the main suite. Should I ask them to join you?”

“No,” she replied after a moment’s thought. “I don’t want to overload the kid. Just let them know I’m here and will be up to see them in a bit.”

“Right away,” the AI intoned as the elevator reached the ninetieth floor. “Miss Potts and Mr. Weitzel are in the right hand suite.”

Megan thanked Jarvis and made her way over to the indicated suite and knocked. A few seconds later, Happy opened the door, a smile reaching his face when he saw her. “Hey boss, we were just getting Danny situated.”

“Hi, Happy,” she acknowledged with a smile of her own, giving him a quick hug. “Thank you for your help. Did I actually get the clothing sizes right?”

He laughed as he stepped aside to let her through the entryway. “You did manage to get the shirts right, but the pants are a tad big at the waist. I got him a belt while I was at it, so he’ll be fine until I get the right sizes tomorrow.”

The pair made their way to the living room where Pepper was busy talking with Danny and tying out some notes on her tablet. They both looked up at Megan’s arrival, and Danny leapt to his feet with a huge smile and cheeks flushed with pleasure. “I can’t even begin to thank you for all this!” he practically gushed. “I’m still half expecting to wake up and discover this is all just a very good dream!”

The petite genius laughed brightly at that. “No worries, and I’d tell you it’s not a dream, but I’m willing to bet I’d say that in a dream too.” She plopped down onto the couch seat next to where the young man had been setting moments before and turned her gaze to Pepper. “Are we all good, Pep?”

“We’ve got a few snags to handle,” she said as Danny reclaimed his seat, “but we’re generally good to go.” She glanced down at her notes. “The main problem is getting him an ID card, but we also need to figure out the best job for him.”

“You mentioned trouble getting a job before,” Megan said, turning to the brunette next to her. “Do you have any work experience?”

“Just a little doing pizza delivery, but otherwise, no,” he sheepishly admitted. Then, nervously, he added, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, waving off his apology. “Are you still in school? What were/are your grades like?”

“No. They wanted a legal address, so… yeah. I did okay. My best subject was math.” He looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, “I really like computer programming, so I’ve studied some in my free time.”

“Bingo,” Megan declared. “How does a paid internship in the programming division of R&D sound?”

Nervousness once again overcame Danny, “It _does_ , but are you sure I’m good enough for it?”

“Nope!” she said as wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a one-armed hug. “But I _am_ sure that you’ll reach that point with some directed study in the area you ‘really like.’”

Her words and close contact to him made the brunette blush somewhat, but he managed to mutter, “Thank you very much.”

“As for the ID,” Megan said as she relinquished her hold on the boy, “we can arrange that with a little finagling. Is ‘Danny’ short for Daniel?”

“Err, I never really gave it much thought,” he admitted. “I, uh…” He glanced at each of the room’s three occupants, his blush becoming more pronounced. “I chose the name because…” He trailed off, looking unsure.

“Happy? Pep? Go ahead and head on out now. I’ll chat with him alone for a bit.” Happy and Pepper shared a look of understanding then bid them both good night and left the room. Once they were gone, Megan twisted in her seat to face Danny, slipping her left leg up onto the couch and draping her right leg over it. “Is that more comfortable?” she softly inquired.

“Yeah, actually,” he replied, though his blush was still quite present.

She nodded sagely, having suspected he would be more comfortable with her alone, since she was also transgender. “I’m sorry for asking that question, Danny, but I need to know for the ID card.” She hesitated for a second before adding, “And to be honest, having the formal name ‘Danny’ on a fake ID would probably raise eyebrows if you had to use it.”

“I figured,” he said. “It’s just… kinda embarrassing. I picked it because…” He closed his eyes, steeling himself. _Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh…_ “Because I really like the song ‘Danny Boy.’”

“And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that,” Megan replied immediately, causing him to open his eyes in shock. She gave him a big smile. “Before you ask: Yes, really. What matters is that _you_ like it.” She paused for a second, then said, “Fair’s fair. You told me where ‘Danny’ came from, so I’ll tell you where ‘Megan’ came from.” She glanced to the side at nothing in particular, her smile somehow growing as she thought fondly of the memory. “My name used to be ‘Anthony’ — ‘Tony’ for short. When my parents finally decided to accept that I was really a girl, they suggested changing my name to ‘Antonia’ for convenience’s sake.”

She laughed. “I was utterly repulsed by the idea and wanted a name altogether different from ‘Anthony.’ However, I had just turned six at the time, so I, needless to say, was not the best at coming up with names. My mom often wore a pearl necklace that I thought was pretty, so deciding I wanted to be more like her, I told my parents I wanted to be named ‘Pearl.’ My dad mentioned that his mother’s name was ‘Megan’ and it meant ‘pearl.’ After that, I was sold.” She turned her gaze back to him, finding him enraptured by her unexpected tale. “So like I said, what matters when choosing a name for yourself is that _you_ like your name.”

“Gotcha,” Danny replied with a smile of pleasure. After a moment of thought, he continued. “And you’re right: Having my official name be ‘Danny’ really _would_ make my ID questionable. I’m fine with ‘Daniel.’”

“Okay then.” A thoughtful look came over her as she asked, “For the record, are you stealth or not? Just checking whether I should avoid the topic with others.”

His expression grew somber. “Like I said earlier. I lived a lie long enough. I prefer to be honest with people.”

She smiled at that. _That’s very brave of him._ “Do you need anything else, have any questions, etc.?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you again!” he answered. Megan gave me another smile before she hopped up from the couch and began to make her way to the door. Before she could exit, however, he suddenly said, “Miss Stark?”

Megan stopped and turned back to face him before playfully quipping with a grin, “I told you, it’s _just_ Megan.”

The brunette matched her grin. “Right. _Megan_. I just wanted to say that I’m glad your family was there for you.”

She smiled softly and moved back to her seat on the couch, looked him firmly in the eye, and said, “My family was and still is there for me. Being family is about more than blood.” She paused and glanced away from him in hesitation. After a moment, her blue eyes found his forest green ones once more. “I can’t speak for your blood family, but, if you want, you have family with me.”

Danny’s jaw dropped. _I must be dreaming_ , he thought to himself, _or else I have the best luck ever._

Megan waited, but after a minute of silence from the boy, she glumly determined, _Yeah, I knew that would be too much. Way to go, Megan; he probably thinks you’re some kind of weirdo now._ She looked away uncomfortably and began to rise from the couch but froze when she felt his arms latch around her in a tight hug.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he mumbled, his voice wobbly with emotion. “I can’t… I can’t tell you how _much_ that means to… to have _family_ again. To have someone who cares about me.”

Her eyes began to prickle with tears as she closed her own arms around him. “Is this what it feels like to be a big sister?” she wondered, inadvertently voicing her thought. Danny’s grip tightened slightly in response, but neither said anything more. After what felt like ages of just basking in one another’s comforting presence, Megan gave him one final squeeze before extricating herself, murmuring, “I’ll be upstairs if you need me, okay?” She slowly made her way to the exit and paused when she reached it, a thought occurring to her. “Err, it’s probably better if you ask Jarvis to get me rather than coming up yourself. I sleep with Bruce.”

“That makes sense,” Danny replied, not relishing the thought of walking in on anything private. “Who’s Jarvis?”

“I am, Mr. Weitzel,” said AI intoned upon hearing his name. “If you need anything, then you need only ask.”

“No _way,”_ the brunette breathed out in awe. “Is Jarvis an _AI_?”

Megan grinned widely. “Yup. I built him myself a couple of years back.” She savored the boy’s expression for a few moments before saying, “Goodnight, Danny.”

Snapping out of his reverie, he gave her a jaunty wave as he replied, “Goodnight, Megan.”

“ _Please_ don’t let this be a dream,” she managed to hear him say just before the elevator doors slid shut.


	15. Chapter Twelve: Preparing for War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_“That makes sense,” Danny replied, not relishing the thought of walking in on anything private. “Who’s Jarvis?”_

_“I am, Mr. Weitzel,” said AI intoned upon hearing his name. “If you need anything, then you need only ask.”_

_“No_ way _,” the brunette breathed out in awe. “Is Jarvis an_ AI _?”_

_Megan grinned widely. “Yup. I built him myself a couple of years back.” She savored the boy’s expression for a few moments before saying, “Goodnight, Danny.”_

_Snapping out of his reverie, he gave her a jaunty wave as he replied, “Goodnight, Megan.”_

_“_ Please _don’t let this be a dream,” she managed to hear him say just before the elevator doors slid shut._

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Chapter Twelve: Preparing for War_

“Secret operations are essential in war; upon them, the army relies to make its every move.”

Sun Tzu

* * *

**Monday, March 14th, 2005 @ 10:02p, EST | Internet Café by the S.H.I.E.L.D. NYC Site near Times Square**

“‘Share information and opinions,’ she said,” Steve muttered to himself as he glanced at the next article. He had been researching what it meant to be ‘transgender’ for hours, and what he had primarily learned was that a lot of people differed on what was fact and what was opinion. Although he had managed to learn a great deal about the subject, he had still come no closer to formulating an opinion about Megan and Danny. He could appreciate the notion of having a conflict of identity and acting to eliminate it, but how, exactly, one should go about doing still eluded him. _Is it okay to go against nature like they have, or should they have fought harder to be normal?_ He sighed, temporarily abandoning his search in favor of resting his elbows on the desk and his face in his hands. _Setting aside what’s right and wrong, I have to admit that I can only barely see Danny as a girl. Megan I can’t see as a boy at all, even knowing the truth._ He scoffed. _‘The truth.’ What an interesting notion that’s turning out to be._

He picked himself back up and returning himself back to the task at hand. As he hit the back button and prepared to click the next link, he paused. _Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way._ He clicked on the address bar, awkwardly typed ‘google.com,’ then hit enter. When the search box appeared before him once more, he typed ‘Megan Stark transgender’ into it. _Let’s try a little more focused research_ , he thought to himself as he pressed the enter key. He waited until the website once again procured thousands of links, all ordered by relevance, and selected the one at the top of the list. _Oh, Howard_ , Steve thought to himself after he finished reading the article — titled ‘Megan Stark a Trans Woman?’ _You allowed this when she was only_ six years old _?_ The information he had read earlier about hormone replacement therapy suddenly came to mind. _No wonder Megan looks like a woman… She never went through boys’ puberty. How could he allow something so irreversible?_

He paused as he remembered Danny’s appearance and some of the information he’d read earlier. _Okay, maybe not_ entirely _irreversible_ , he admitted, _but still, was she old enough to make that decision? Especially since she never got the chance to truly feel like a man?_ Looking back at his own growth, he could acknowledge that he hadn’t truly felt like a man either until he had made it most of the way through puberty. _But what about Danny, then?_ he asked himself. _He’s old enough to have gone through puberty, right? Yet he still chose this clearly harsh lifestyle. His parents threw him out, yet he still told Megan, ‘I lived a lie for fifteen years. I don’t want to lie anymore, even if it makes everything harder.’_

Steve sighed and rose to his feet, deciding he had done enough research for one day, at the very least. _Setting aside all this confusion about choosing to do this, at least the Bible is relatively clear on the matter_ , he thought to himself as he abandoned the computer and left the café, the items Phil had given him earlier safely stored in his coat pockets.

* * *

**Saturday, December 4th, 2004 @ 11:15p, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

“How do you like the new watch, Erik?” Basil asked with a wry smile.

“It’s great! Thank you very much,” the astrophysicist replied, eyeing the gift appreciatively. _I can see why everyone likes him Basil so much_ , he thought to himself. _He really is a nice guy._

“Oh good! Everybody I’ve given them has thought the same thing, but I always worry that sooner or later somebody won’t like the one I give them,” the raven haired scientist said with a laugh. “Oh by the way, I heard through the grapevine that you were working on a really interesting project. Something called ‘The Tesseract?’ Think you could give me a tour? Maybe introduce me to some of your colleagues?”

“Oh, no problem, no problem,” the balding Erik remarked, as he began to lead his new friend to the project. “In fact, if you have some more, I’m sure they would love to have some of your watches.”

“I’m sure I could be convinced to part with some,” he answered his unwitting slave, savoring the bliss this degree of control gave him as he fingered the earpiece in his left ear he’d had developed to replace the bulky helmet he had initially created. He himself wasn’t a technological expert, but it had taken very little effort to _convince_ one of his ‘friends’ in the compound to develop one for him, crafting it to look just like a hearing aid.

“I’d be very interested in seeing one myself,” a third voice joined in.

Basil glanced casually at the newcomer and blinked in surprise at the sight of his unusual attire: gold and green, medieval style armor. “And, uh… Who might you be?”

The trickster god gave him a distinctly feral grin. “Loki of Asgard.”

He paled at the words, remembering what he had read about the recent situation in Puente Antiguo in a report one of his ‘friends’ had shown him. _Play it cool, Sandhurst_ , he internally coached himself, _and you could have a Norse_ god _under your control!_ “Well, who am I to deny you a chance to see one of my watches?” He reached into his pocket, retrieved one of the watches he had crafted out of it, and carefully held it out to the god standing before him. “You know how to wear one, right?” he asked, choosing his words with extra care.

Loki’s grin lost its mad edge but remained firmly in place as he took the watch by its band. “Why would you think I don’t?”

To his credit, Basil managed to keep his voice under control as he calmly replied, “To be fair, you don’t look like someone who prefers modern attire, so I figured you might appreciate an explanation.”

“By all means,” he responded, gesturing at the watch in question with his free hand.

“First,” he began, pointing at the metal back of the watch face — one of his slave discs — as he spoke, “you place the back of the watch face where you want to wear the watch. Then it’s just a simple matter of securing the strap to hold it in place.”

The trickster god’s grin grew feral once more. “Ah yes, so that’s how you’re controlling them.”

Basil froze. “What’s that you said? Sorry, I’m a bit hard of hearing in one ear.”

Loki pressed the back of the watch face firmly against his skin. “And it forms a mental connection through that item you have on your ear,” he commented. “A truly amazing device, but I’m afraid it’s not enough to control a god like me.” He paused, enjoying the look of panic that had rapidly begun to form on the man’s face. “Come now, there’s nothing to fear,” he drawled with a wicked gleam in his eye. “I have no desire to free slaves from their… _Controller_. Why be enemies when we are on the cusp of forming a beautiful partnership.”

The Controller slowly began to grin, a calculating look in his eyes. _So that’s his game._ “I’d love to hear more about what you have in mind.”

* * *

**Monday, March 14th, 2005 @ 07:22p, EST | Stark Tower, NYC**

The elevator’s doors slid open once it reached the top floor, and Megan smiled when she saw Bruce and Clint playing a board game. “Hey there, you two. Whatcha playing?”

Dazzling (at least in her opinion) neon green eyes met hers, a smile on their owner’s face. “Hey, Pearl. We’re playing Risk.”

“Ah, a fitting game for folks like us,” she commented with a laugh as she crossed the room and plopped onto the seat next to her beau.

Clint mockingly gagged when she snagged a chaste kiss from Bruce, quipping, “Get a room, you two.”

Bruce chuckled, and Megan playfully stuck her tongue out at him. “This is why party-poopers like you have to stay on a different floor!” she teased back. It had taken a bit of time, but the duo had grown into a trio over the sharpshooter’s stay with them as they grew more comfortable with him. Spare the reason he had originally moved into Megan’s Malibu residence, the only stressor regarding his presence had been the limited personal space of the home. _Now that we’re here_ , she thought to herself, _that won’t be a problem anymore._

“Oh, so if wasn’t a ‘party-pooper,’ I could join in on the fun?” the blonde asked with an impish expression.

She grabbed one of Bruce’s cannons from his pile of game pieces (a smile crossing her face as she noted he had chosen the green ones) and chucked it at him. “Not a chance!” she proclaimed with a giggle. She playfully threw her arms around her beau’s neck and gave the brunette a sultry look. “Bruce is all the man I need.”

As they shared another quick kiss, Clint drawled, “We _were_ playing a game before you came in all batty eyelashes.”

“On that note,” Bruce said, jumping into the conversation, “what took you so long down there? Jarvis mentioned something about a guest?”

The petite genius’ expression grew fond as she replied. “That would be Danny. He’s a teenager I met earlier this evening. He’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

His neon green eyes grew curious. “May I ask why, exactly?”

“He’s transgender, and my public coming out inspired him to just be himself. When he came out to his parents, they disowned him and left him to live on the streets,” she said, finishing with a snarl. _Just thinking about it makes me so angry!_

Clint released a low whistle. “Damn. That’s harsh, especially if he was still dependent on them.”

“That’s an understatement…” Bruce chipped in.

Megan hummed in agreement as she snuggled deeper into her beau, silently thankful for how much she’d had, and still had, going in her favor. “When you meet him, be nice, please. He’s had a rough go of it. Now, who’s winning?” A quick glance at the game board told her all she needed to know, but she wanted to focus on happier matters for a bit. The end of her time with Steve — and their next, inevitable encounter — had her anxious enough already.

Bruce was smart enough to take a hint. “Well, I’ve got a good hold on the Americas, and Clint has Europe and Australia. We’re duking it out over the rest. At the moment, he has most of Africa and the northern parts of Asia, and I’ve got the southern parts of Asia.”

“Well then, don’t let me keep you from your game. Play on, gentlemen!”

* * *

“Cheater!” Clint said with a laugh as Bruce conquered the blonde’s sole remaining country: Ukraine. The game had swiftly swung the brunette’s favor, thanks in large part to Megan constantly surveying the battlefield with glazed eyes and whispering suggestions into his ear.

“It’s hardly cheating to accept consultation from one’s fellow generals in order to win a war,” Bruce sagely declared, eliciting a giggle from his lover.

“Speaking of war, Meg,” the sharpshooter asked as the two men began to pack up the game, “how did the meeting with Captain Rogers, hero of WWII, go?”

“Wait, _the_ Captain Rogers?” Bruce queried, his curiosity evident.

Megan sighed wearily. “Heard about that, did you? Let’s just say I’m dreading seeing him again.”

“Ouch. That bad, huh?” Clint quipped. “What happened?”

She looked away with a troubled expression but began to explain anyway. “I met Danny while Steve and I were eating dinner, and some of topics that came up made it apparent that I’m transgender. If Steve’s abrupt departure is any indication, he was less than thrilled at the thought.” Bruce stiffened somewhat at the thought of her eating dinner with another guy without him, especially since he and Clint had arrived at JFK by that point, but she was distracted enough thinking about the troubling encounter that she completely missed it.

“That’s going to make for a fun work environment,” the blonde joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

Megan groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m still holding onto the hope that everything will work out, since he hasn’t outright said, ‘I totally disapprove of you,’ yet.”

Bruce frowned. “Wasn’t the Avengers project scrapped?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t preclude the likelihood of Clint or me working with him,” she answered. “The possibility of you getting involved with him though is slim, since I doubt Fury will call you for anything less than an alien invasion.”

“Ah, I see your sense of humor has returned,” Clint said with a grin.

She gave him a look. “Hardly. Have you already forgotten that last May we discovered other dimensions exist?”

“Touché.”

* * *

A few hours and a round of wine later, the trio broke up, Clint taking the elevator down a floor to the floor containing his suite while Bruce and Megan heading into their private area. As Bruce went about his nightly absolutions at his normal pace, he couldn’t help but notice that she took much longer than usual, her expression troubled. Once she had finally slipped into their shared king-size bed and snuggled into his side, his arm around her in a half hug, he inquired, “What’s bothering you, Meg?”

Megan said nothing for a minute, idly tracing circles on his chest, but eventually she replied, “It’s Steve.”

“Why is his opinion bothering you so much? You mentioned work before, but this feels bigger than that.”

“It’s because Captain America was my hero as a little girl,” she replied. “Dad used to tell me all the stories, since he was Steve’s friend. It’s just… difficult to reconcile my admiration of the man in the stories with what happened earlier. I _want_ to believe he’s going to respect my choice, which his _friend_ supported, but the uncertainty is leaving me anxious.” Bruce tightened eyes narrowed somewhat as he possessively pulled her closer into him. Megan gave a relaxed sigh, her beau’s actions making her feel more comfortable. She tilted her chin up to look him in the eyes, her own half drooped with sleepiness, and saw his expression. She blinked in confusion, her wakefulness somewhat restored. “Bruce? What’s wrong, honey?”

“I…” he began before trailing off, looking away. “I’m just feeling a bit jealous. It’s nothing.”

She frowned. “I wouldn’t say that’s nothing. Why are you jealous, exactly?”

He took his time replying, carefully choosing his words. “Well, you had dinner with him alone, you’re hung up over his _potential_ disapproval of your gender identity, and he just admitted that he’s your hero.”

Megan stopped playing with his chest and reached up to gently tug on his chin so he was looking into her eyes. “Bruce, I swear there’s nothing to be concerned about. I was only out with him in the first place because Phil asked me to help give the guy a sense of stability after waking up this morning only to find six _decades_ had passed while he was asleep. And I said he _was_ my hero. That changed long before today.”

He smiled weakly. “See? I told you it was nothing.”

She playfully poked him in the chest. “No, you said your jealousy was nothing, which it wasn’t. It was a legitimate expression of how you felt, and that’s never ‘nothing.’ What I’m saying is there’s nothing to be _concerned_ about, so you’ll see there's nothing to be jealous about.”

He gently took the hand she’d just prodded him with in his own, brought it to his lips, and kissed it softly. “Thank you, Pearl.”

“That’s right, I’m _your_ Pearl,” she remarked savoring the feelings that welled up in her every time he used his pet name for her.

The couple returned to the task of falling asleep, and silence descended upon the room. After a few minutes, a question suddenly popped into Bruce’s mind. “Who’s your hero _now_?” he asked.

Megan had almost completely fallen asleep, but she was just barely conscious enough to sleepily mutter, “Daddy, of course.”

The brunette smiled softly at that. _She really loves her father. Ever ‘Daddy’s little girl.’_

* * *

“Mom! Dad! I'm... I'm ready!”

Maria turned around to face the door, and Howard broke out of his reverie enough to glance up. Tony stood there wearing a red mini-skirt as a makeshift dress. A thin, sparkly gold belt secured the top of the skirt across his chest, keeping the hem off the floor. His little feet were planted in the red pumps Maria mentioned earlier; they were naturally too big, leaving careful shuffling Tony's only option for movement. Bright red lipstick haphazardly adorned his mouth, which bore a small, hopeful smile.

The sweet, hopeful smile upon Tony's face began to quiver, tears beginning to flow from his eyes when he saw the anger on his father’s face and the tears in his mother’s eyes. “I'll change.”

“You’re goddamn right you will!”

 _Wait… This isn’t… right?_ Tony thought to himself as Howard strode forward and grabbed the child’s arm too tightly and began dragging him upstairs. “Daddy, please stop! You’re hurting me!”

“And _you_ are hurting _me_ with all this foolishness! What if your Uncle Steve had seen you, hm? Don’t you realize how much that would embarrass your mother and me?”

“U-u- _uncle_ Steve? W-what? W-who?” But Howard never answered Tony, instead dragging him first to the bathroom and then to the boy’s room, methodically cleansing any sign of femininity from his son, seething with anger the entire time. _This isn’t right!_ Tony internally cried. _Why is this happening? This isn’t how this day is supposed to go!_ He couldn’t explain how he knew this, but something primal within him said it was true.

Sometime later, his father hauled him downstairs once more, reprimanding him for his tears, which had yet to cease. “Stop crying! This is what’s _best_ for you, and you know it, Tony!”

“That’s not my name! It’s Megan!” Megan screamed at him as something within her finally snapped.

Silence.

Howard towered over her, the expression on his face an ugly blend of fury and embarrassment, and nearby, Maria could be heard crying softly. Frightened by how different her father was treating her, she tore her eyes from him to search for her mother and found the room held more than three people. Standing by the tables that Howard had prepared earlier was a crowd of children’s faces, amongst whom stood two men.

Two of the children, young red-headed girls — one with hair closer to orange than the other’s vibrant red — immediately began to leave, whispering to one another furiously as they went. “Ew! Did he just call himself ‘Megan’?” “Does he want to be a girl?” “It’s not like he can!” “How ridiculous.”

Two blonde-haired boys soon followed them, taking with them the toy hammer and bow and arrows they’d brought with them and had been using to play fight each other. “And to think I thought him worthy of borrowing my hammer. Thinking himself a ‘Lady’…” “That just made my opinion of him plummet.”

Two more children made their way out, one an African-American boy with an athletic air and the other a slightly pudgy, brown-haired boy. “You’re no comrade of mine.” “Why would I ever want to protect him?”

A lone brunette left next, gazing up at the faces of one of the adults as he clutched his Captain America trading cards against his chest. “My name is not Philly, and we are not friends.”

Two brunettes, the last of the children, finally took their leave, one a girl with long hair and the other a boy with the oddest neon green eyes. “To think I looked up to him like an older sibling…” “I swear I’m never going to play with him again. He makes me so angry!”

With all the children gone, one of the two remaining, older guests stepped forward and stopped next to her and her father, his black trench coat and eye patch ominous. “Howard, I’m sorry, but I can’t accept Tony into the youth training program after all.” The only visible eye turned to look at her, seemingly gazing past her skin and directly into her soul. “He doesn’t have the potential to be a _hero_.”

The only remaining guest, clad in the unmistakable garb of Captain America, walked over to her carefully and knelt down, resting his hands on her shoulders, his steely blue eyes locking onto her own sky blue orbs. The name ‘Uncle Steve’ crossed her thoughts but left her feeling even more confused, as though he shouldn’t — couldn’t — have been kneeling before her at that moment. “Tony, this is how you were meant to be, and you know it. Why do you insist on doing this to your parents and me?”

It took the little girl trapped in a boy’s body a few moments to find her voice. “But I can’t… This isn’t… isn’t _me_ ,” she replied wanting desperately to run away and pretend this wasn’t happening — that it was all just a dream.

The blonde-haired man before her stood up, led her over to a nearby mirror, and positioned her before it. “ _No_ ,” she despondently moaned at the image before her: An older, twenty-something year old man with black hair and beard trimmed in a style reminiscent of her father’s, who was wearing a meticulous suit and gazing at her with soulless, sky blue eyes.

The figure withdrew his right hand from within his pants’ pocket, a small pistol clasped firmly within it and held it up to his head, the barrel positioned to deliver a lethal blow. “Wouldn’t it be nice if it were over?” he half sang half murmured, his voice sounding entirely wrong to her as the gloomy melody washed over her. “Then I wouldn’t have to feel so wrong.”

Megan collapsed to the floor, horror in her eyes at the sight of the terrible image. Slowly, her chin drooped and her eyes gazed down at herself, hoping — _pleading_ — that the image in the mirror was a lie. It wasn’t. The words fell out of his lips unbidden, sounding choked. “And wouldn’t it be nice if I had never… been in a world where I don’t belong?”

The life of Megan Stark had all just been a dream. A wonderful, impossible dream that could never come to be.

He squeezed the trigger.

* * *

Megan’s eyes shot open, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. The room was dark and utterly silent and for a brief moment, she feared that the dream had been real and she had died.

 _This certainly doesn’t look like Valhalla or Hel_ , rational-Megan noted, though the voice of the internal construct betrayed its fear.

 _And who the fuck asked you for your opinion?_ emotional-Megan snarled, disturbed and lashing out.

 _Nobody_ , memory-Megan supplied.

She released her death grip on the sheets and scrambled out of the bed in a cold sweat, nearly tripping more than once as she swiftly made her way to the bathroom. Miraculously, she managed to quietly shut the door in spite of her panic and flicked the lights on. At the sight of her tangled mess of black and red hair and distinctly feminine body and night clothes, she elicited a tremendous sigh of relief and allowed her tired frame to half collapse against the wall for support.

_Thank heavens._

She sat there for a time, just wiping away the wetness in her eyes even as it was refreshed by tears of happiness. She was in NYC in Stark Tower. It was night time, and she had sound proofed the interior of the building from the sounds of a city that never sleeps. She was Megan Stark, a trans woman, and she was _loved_. Finally reassured that she had only had a nightmare — an incredibly awful nightmare — she slowly pulled herself to her feet, turned off the light, and left the bathroom.

The light had reset her natural night vision, but Megan could nevertheless vaguely see that Bruce was still asleep in bed, mercifully undisturbed by her flight to the bathroom. The adrenaline that had been pumping in her veins had long since receded, but she knew that sleep would be a futile endeavor at this point. She was used to not sleeping much, her sleep either broken by her lover’s habit of waking up early or by what had just occurred — nightmares.

She stripped off her now sweat coated night clothes and threw them into the dirty laundry before retrieving a fresh set of some comfortable clothes and pulling them on, deciding to forego a shower in favor of holing herself up in one of the R&D floors and mentally escaping in her work. Securely covered in a charcoal yoga pants, a blood red cami, and a likewise blood red bra, her still bare feet glided across the room to the door leading into the suite’s living room. She slipped through the door into the dark room and quietly shut it before murmuring, “Lights, Jarvis.”

“Good morning, ma’am,” her AI responded as he complied. “I’m sorry to see you didn’t sleep well.”

“Total understatement, but thank you,” she muttered under her breath as she glanced down at the watch Pepper had given her as a gift. The out of the blue gift had been very thoughtful, and she and Bruce — who had been given a matching one — had graciously accepted them. “04:04a on Tuesday, March 15th, 2005,” she announced to no one in particular as she checked the digital readout. _Sounds about right. Good to know I haven’t lost time again._

She hadn’t told anyone, but over the prior month, Megan had lost track of time on several occasions, which was uncharacteristic of her organized mind. She always felt the urge to dismiss the matter as unimportant or just a side-effect of stress, but rationally, she knew it was wise to keep track of it all. It had not escaped her notice that every occurrence had happened while she was working on the blueprints for the soon to be released Stark Industries’ prosthetic line, but she was nevertheless keeping a close eye on the problem. Likewise, she had gone over each of the designs with a fine tooth comb, scouring them for any error she may have carelessly made during an episode, but everything was flawless, including the integral disc that she had designed to supplement the internal sensors she used in her own leg, the idea for which had come to her in a moment of inspiration that she was secretly quite pleased had occurred. The logical next step had been to ensure impartiality, so she had consulted Bruce — although she had danced around explaining why exactly she was asking — whether he noticed anything amiss, which he had not. She had even taken it one step further and checked with some of the R&D employees she ordinarily had little contact with. They too had all confirmed that everything appeared to be in order. At the same time, she had also discovered that Pepper had given everyone watches. _Pepper really is a thoughtful CEO. Much more suited to the job than I ever was._

Pushing aside her musings on the time loss matter ( _I really need to stop worrying so needlessly. I’ve checked everything myself and gotten impartial opinions as well, and nothing has happened._ The thought bothered her on some level, but she let the matter lie.), she decided she needed some fresh air and made her way out onto the external launch platform. As she exited the suite, the sounds of the city below washed over her like water. A smile grew on her face as she crossed the length of the platform and sat down on the edge, allowing her bare feet to dangle precariously over the sea of lights that surrounded her nearly completed building like a protective moat. She closed her eyes and released a pleased sigh as she savored the wind rushing through her tangled hair. She had felt an odd kinship with this great city ever since her parents had told her it was her birthplace, and her picking up her roots and moving there had been a long time in coming.

She leaned back until she was lying flat on her back, her arms splayed out at her sides and released another pleased sigh. _Thanks for helping me feel better, New York_ , she thought to herself with a soft giggle. She opened her eyes to stare up at the stars and froze. A man covered from head to toe in almost entirely white armor was standing over her — his feet _in_ her stomach like only a specter could be. She released a short scream that was promptly followed by a much longer one as, in her haste to get away from the ghostly figure, she fell off the platform.

_Well, shit._

* * *

**Wednesday, December 29th, 2004 @ 01:14p, PST | CEO’s Office, Stark Industries, CA**

“Thank you again for seeing me on such short notice, Miss Potts,” Basil said as he sat down in the chair Pepper gestured him towards.

“Well, I could hardly turn down a S.H.I.E.L.D. representative after the bailout last May,” the red-head replied. “Though I must admit that I’m curious about what product S.H.I.E.L.D. would like to launch via Stark Industries.”

He produced a watch from his pocket, eliciting a quirked eyebrow from the CEO. He smiled. “I know it looks innocuous, but I assure you this is an incredible piece of technology that will be right at home with Stark Industries’ focus on enhancing peoples’ lives.” He held it out to her. “You’ll feel the effects as soon as you try it on.”

Intrigued, Pepper reached out to grab it. “What does it do, exactly?”

The Controller’s smile grew secretive. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 04:06a, EST | Stark Tower, NYC**

Danny stared out the window to the suite he had been given several hours earlier, daydreaming with a goofy smile as he watched the lights of the city flicker and change with regularity. Granted, it was distinctly night-, not daytime, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. _Honestly, I’m almost afraid to_ , he admitted to himself as he stretched his numbing limbs and adjusted his posture in the window seat to be more comfortable. _What if this is all just a dream, and when I go to sleep, I’ll wake up in the alley by that pizza shop?_

The woman who had more or less single-handedly turned his life around swam through his thoughts once more, her words echoing in his mind’s ear. _“Is this what it feels like to be a big sister?”_

“I sincerely hope it does,” he murmured aloud to no one in particular, “because that’d make me the world’s luckiest younger brother.”

The focus of his thoughts fell past his window, her stomach facing the ground and her arms and legs spread out widely. Seconds later, a swarm of armor pieces shot past in pursuit.

“Megan!” Danny cried out, as he dashed towards the elevator that Pepper had used to bring him to the suite.

_“Err, it’s probably better if you ask Jarvis to get me rather than coming up yourself.”_

_Jarvis!_ “Jarvis! Megan is _free falling_ outside! _Do something_!”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Weitzel,” the AI intoned. “She has already summoned her armor and, based upon her current flight speed and that of the armor, she will not hit the ground.”

The brunette collapsed to a sitting position on the floor outside the elevator and visibly sagged with relief. “W-what happened to her?” he asked once he’d managed to calm the torrent thoughts crashing through his mind enough that he could form a coherent thought.

“She was lounging on the launch pad when she was startled by something and fell off. I’m afraid I’m not entirely certain what caused her scare.”

Anxious to find out what had happened, he pulled himself to his feet and moved into the elevator as its doors slid open. “Take me up, please.”

* * *

Megan twisted in the air to spread her body out parallel to the ground and slow her fall as instinct honed through the numerous S.H.I.E.L.D. missions she had completed over the past nine months kicked into gear. She twitched her muscles in just the right way, silently summoning the pieces of armor stored above her within the platform she had fallen from. Almost all at once, they reached her, each part having maneuvered itself through the air with the guidance thrusters she had included in the Mark V’s design. The pieces came together, locking into place around her falling form as the ground rapidly approached. The moment her gauntlets and back-mounted air flaps were secure, she twisted her body once more — this time so her feet were directed at the ground — and activated them. The repulsor-based thrusters flared to life at full power and instantly halted her fall moments before she would have impacted the pavement. The reactions of the pedestrians below varied between indignant and excited, but she paid them no heed as she burst upwards and into motion, the last of her armor finding its place on her body.

Within seconds, the Iron Woman reached the platform and came to a halt mid-air and hovered beside it, her hand repulsors aimed at the armored figure, who still stood where it had been before her fall, both glowing red and ready to fire. “What are you?” she ground out, carefully keeping her tone free of the fear that had flared up in her in light of her fall and the sight of feet _in_ her that had caused it.

“Would you harm me, someone who has done you no harm?” the Ghost inquired casually, his heavily distorted voice eliciting a frown from her, though it couldn’t be seen through her faceplate.

“Legally, you are trespassing, but no, I am technically not entitled to harm you, as we’re in New York,” she carefully replied. “That being said, you infiltrated my high security building without setting off any alarms and have demonstrated an… ability that I cannot currently explain. All of that indicates that I am in a situation with a high risk of _danger_ , so I am treading carefully.”

He watched her silently for a tense minute before replying, “Keen observation and good restraint, Megan Stark.”

“Thank you,” she tersely acknowledged, “though in the interest of full disclosure, you are currently dealing with ‘Megan Stark, the Iron Woman who is currently distressed by your presence.’ Please explain why you are here. I would like to be reassured that I do _not_ need to harm you, someone who has done me no harm but certainly has the potential to do so.”

* * *

The elevator door to the suite slid open, and Danny stepped cautiously into the large room, wary in light of Megan’s earlier request that he have Jarvis get her if he needed her but egged on by his concern. He froze at the sight of the Iron Woman locked in a standoff with Ghost. Thankfully, the intruder had his focus set on her position in the air on the side of the platform furthest from Danny, so he didn’t notice the boy. The teenager ducked back into the elevator, breathing harshly, and swiftly pressed the ‘close doors’ button — perhaps a little harder than was reasonably necessary.

“Jarvis, you didn’t tell me she was fighting someone!” the brunette scolded the AI, feeling somewhat silly that he was treating the artificial intelligence, a true marvel of science, in such a way.

“I do not understand what you mean,” Jarvis replied. “Miss Stark is simply talking to herself on my sensors.”

Danny frowned. “No, she’s talking to a guy in dressed in armor that’s almost entirely white. Is there anything you can do to help her?” _Oh, but he’s going to have trouble helping her if he can’t even see the guy. In that case…_ “Or is there someone you can send to help?”

“The latter.”

* * *

Ghost laughed, his voice modifier making it sound distinctly odd. “I am here to ask you questions and, based upon your answers, potentially offer you a new job. Regardless of whether such an offer occurs, I shall leave here without harming you or anyone in this building.”

That caught her off guard. “I have to admit, this is easily the oddest manner I’ve been approached about a job, and I’ve had some odd ones.” Her encounter with Aldrich Killian on New Year’s Eve 1999 crossed her mind. “Kudos.”

The armored man gestured to the area of the platform between him and the building. “Feel free to position yourself between me and your loved ones if that makes you feel more secure. I shall ask the questions once you are comfortable.”

 _Huh. He’s actually taking my ‘reassure me’ request seriously_ , she thought to herself as she maneuvered to the indicated area in a careful and slow fashion, not wanting to startle the strange man. _Frankly, that actually makes me more nervous._ She flexed the appropriate muscle to turn off the external speaker and said, “Jarvis, call Bruce and Clint, tell them what’s going on, and that they need to get here ASAP without being seen.”

“Actually, ma’am,” the AI replied, “Danny has already requested them. I’ve informed them of the intruder I cannot detect, and they are on their way.”

Her eyes widened, which, again, her faceplate obscured. _Danny? How on… No, there’s no time to worry about that now. This explains why Jarvis hasn’t made a single peep about this guy’s presence… He must not be able to see or hear him! And his feet were passing through me immaterially earlier, so that helps explain how he got past all of the tower’s defenses… That likely means he could just slip past me too._ “Clint will probably need the elevator first, but once you can, get Danny down to the panic room. Began a complete virus scan, starting with your security systems. Cut all none essential processes tying up the RAM. I need answers ASAP.” She reactivated the external speaker as she touched down onto the platform. “Okay, ask away,” she said, keeping her growing internal panic out of her voice.

The Ghost gave her a nod of acknowledgement. “Why did you choose to work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Couldn’t you just break into one of their bases and find out?” she quipped back, answering his question with a question.

“Yes,” he replied, humoring her.

_And… that’s probably an honest answer. This is just plain weird._

“I’m at the door out of our private area,” Bruce’s voice said in her helmet, her HUD indicating he was talking to her through a cell phone Jarvis had patched in. “Can’t get closer without being seen. Ready to charge in.”

 _Ah, now the positioning makes sense. He wanted to be able to see anyone approaching. Fuck, I_ really _should have seen that earlier. I guess I’m still feeling off from that nightmare._ “I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. because I refuse to sit back while the world goes to hell around me,” she began, echoing what she told Bruce the day she met him. “People were dying from things I could prevent. I refused to allow that to continue.”

“Why do you accept no payment for your work with S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“I do my work with them because it needs to be done — not because I want a paycheck. Besides, I _am_ a billionaire. Just putting that out there.”

* * *

The elevator Danny was sitting swiftly moved down a floor, eliciting a surprised yelp from the brunette. “Jarvis?”

“Stay in the elevator, Mr. Weitzel,” the AI intoned as the doors slid open to reveal Clint Barton, dressed in only a t-shirt and boxers, his quiver strapped to his back and his recurve bow in hand.

In spite of his confusion, the sharpshooter didn’t hesitate to step into the elevator as he called out, “The roof, J.” He turned his attention to the boy still sitting on the elevator’s floor, where he had been for the past minute. “And you must be Danny. I’m Clint. We’ll have to properly meet later, yeah?”

The brunette nodded, trembling slightly, the crazy series of events beginning to take its toll on him. “Y-yeah. A-are you helping Megan?”

“Yeah,” the blonde answered as the doors opened. “Stay in here, and J will keep you safe,” he said as he began to stealthily step out of the elevator.

“Okay, Mr. Clint,” the boy whispered, his pitch rising somewhat as he forgot in his stress to keep it down. A jaunty wave was his only reply as the doors shut, the sharpshooter already halfway to the ledge of the gravel roof without making a single sound.

The elevator began to descend as Jarvis announced, “Miss Stark has insisted that I get you to the panic room, Mr. Weitzel. It’s in the basement; you’ll be there shortly.”

* * *

“Would you sacrifice one person’s freedom or life if doing so would ensure order and safety for others?”

“Well isn’t _that_ a loaded question,” Megan commented, vying for time until her backup arrived. “I suppose that would depend upon the situation. Feel free to give me some hypotheticals.”

“No, that answer is sufficient.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I see a great deal of myself in you, Miss Stark. You are a brilliant, capable individual whose intelligence and kindness is being exploited by others.”

“Oh? What makes you think that?”

“Know — not think. S.H.I.E.L.D. needs you right now, but the moment they don’t, they’ll toss you out — an unneeded and unwanted liability.”

“I’m above you and have him in my sights,” the hushed voice of Clint rang through her helmet, her HUD indicating he was using his communicator earpiece.

She bristled at that. “That may be what some people in S.H.I.E.L.D. think, but not the ones who matter to me. Besides, I think I would actually be happy if the day came when the world didn’t need a killer like me.”

He pointed at her, causing her to tense in anticipation. “And if that day comes when you face your death, what will you do?”

“You said you see a great deal of yourself in me. Who tried to kill _you_?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D., of course.”

That gave her pause. “Who _are_ you?”

He gestured widely, his arms outstretched to his sides. “I am a Ghost of the past, and unfortunately, I have no job offer for you today, Megan Stark.”

“Aw, secretive about your past _and_ stingy with giving away jobs. That’s a real shame,” she quipped back. “Now, as I recall, you promised to leave without harming me or anyone in this building, no matter the outcome of this conversation. Please make good on that promise.”

“You never answered my last question: If the day comes when you face your death, what will you do?”

“Fight.”

Without warning, Megan began to fall through the platform beneath her at the same moment that Ghost burst into motion, charging at her faster than a normal human could. Caught off guard by her sudden loss of footing, she could only haphazardly fire her already prepped repulsors before focusing on activating her air flaps to get out of the way of her assailant. At the same moment she released her blasts, Clint released his nocked arrow and Bruce burst through the door and began sprinting towards her. Both of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents’ attacks flied though Ghost without effect, however, and the delay of her movement had given him all the time he needed to grab her wrist.

Her armor made intangible around her, Megan fell through it and the platform, beginning to plummet once more. With a furious cry, Bruce threw himself off after her, knowing he didn’t have time to deal with the intruder. A second later, Clint followed, the fingers of his left hand dancing across the control panel on his bow as his right hand snatched the arrow he had prepped: A grapple arrow.

Ghost lifted Megan’s armor up out of the still phased platform, turned on his heel, and strode into the suite. “Let the games begin.”

* * *

**Saturday, December 4th, 2004 @ 11:24p, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

_“I’d love to hear more about what you have in mind.”_

“Do you know who I am, Controller?” Loki asked, giving a non-answer.

“Yes,” Basil breathed out, not bothering to hide the awe in his voice. “You are Loki, the trickster god. S.H.I.E.L.D. thinks you dead after your fight with Thor and Megan Stark.”

The trickster god’s expression darkened at the mention of his prior defeat. “There are worlds you have never seen, Midgardian,” he began, finally answering the human’s question. “The Tesseract holds more power than you know, and there are many who would seek it, but One stands above them all.” Comprehension began to dawn on the scientist, but he waited for the Asgardian to confirm what he suspected. “He is an unstoppable force,” Loki continued, “and nothing will stop him from obtaining that which he seeks. Together, we can secure the cube and, in delivering it unto him, His favor.”

“You will be king of Asgard once more,” Basil murmured, “and I will become king of Earth — Midgard.”

The trickster gave him a smile that was full of teeth. _No. The only Controller of this world will be myself. You will take your place among your race, foul creature._ “So you will help me?”

The Controller smirked wickedly, a maddened gleam in his eye as he envisioned himself in control of the entire world. “Tell me what to do.”

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 04:09a, EST | Stark Tower, NYC**

The two men hurtled through the air towards the splayed out Megan, their own bodies angled for the least air resistance. Bruce reached her first, latching onto her before maneuvering his body underneath hers, his back parallel to the ground. “I have you!” he shouted over the air whistling past them as she wrapped her arms around him in a death grip, planting her face — still bearing the Mark V’s goggles, which she had designed to be detached from her armor and thus miraculously not been phased by Ghost — into his chest.

“Bruce!” Clint yelled as he reached their position and leveled himself out as well. “Grab on!”

With one arm still wrapped around Megan, protectively clutching her to his chest, he moved his free arm to encircle the sharpshooter, his grip strong as he channeled as much of the Hulk as he could without transforming. With Bruce holding the trio together, the blonde notched and aimed his arrow before releasing it. His aim was perfect as usual, and the grapple arrow had been set to its maximum weight limit, but it could only handle so much weight, especially given the speed they were traveling at. The arrow struck the side of Stark Tower, the cable locked into place, and their momentum was transferred into an arch aimed at one of the Tower’s windows, but the arrow immediately snapped, throwing their trajectory askew.

The three heroes slammed into solid wall rather than a window, with Bruce mercifully serving as a buffer, and began to plummet once more. Clint’s trained eyes took quick inventory of the situation. _Momentum slowed, but too close to the build now. Angle’s too shallow, and the arrow didn’t cut it last time…_ “No shot!” he called out.

The arms holding Megan and Clint began to expand at a swift pace, their lightly tanned color becoming a sickly green. A terrifying roar cut through the noise of the street below as the Hulk shoved the sharpshooter into the grasp of the same arm holding Megan and, now free of its burden, grabbed at the wall of the Tower while his foot simultaneously kicked into the same. The exterior wall of the Tower crumbled as the massive green beast hurtled towards the sidewalk, but it provided enough resistance to greatly slow the trio’s fall. Just before they hit the ground, the Hulk shoved off of the wall, flinging himself at a clear area of sidewalk and twisting so that he would hit the ground but they would not. The landing was rough, but Megan and Clint got the least of it as they all skidded to a halt.

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 04:09a, EST | Outside the S.H.I.E.L.D. NYC Site near Times Square**

Steve sighed as he stepped out into the chilly air, his attire entirely too light for a simple walk but suited for the jog he had planned.

_“C’mon then, let’s stretch those legs of yours with a walk. You haven’t used them for six decades, so you could use the exercise.”_

He set off at a pace that was brisk for him but a sprint for the average person, unconsciously moving in the direction of Stark Tower, which he and Megan had passed the day prior. _If I can’t sleep, then I might as well get some exercise in._

Less than a minute later, a terrifying roar reached his ears. _I don’t know what that is_ , he said to himself as he swiftly accelerated to a speed faster than even an Olympic sprinter could match, _but it can’t be good._

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2004 @ 02:10a, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

_Just what I fucking needed_ , Fury thought to himself as he finished calling backup for Megan and Clint and slipped his phone into his jacket. He turned his attention to the agent leaning against the wall nearby, wreathed in shadow and silently watching the actions of the room’s occupants. “Have you seen anything that might set this thing off?”

“Doctor, it’s spiking again,” one of the female employees called out. Erik Selvig abandoned the screen of information he had been reading and moved over to check the station she was at.

“No one’s come or gone in the past several hours,” Natasha reported. “Selvig’s clean. No contacts or I.M.s. If there was any tampering, sir, it wasn’t at this end.”

His eye bore into her as he questioned, “‘At this end?’”

“Not now…” Erik muttered as the Tesseract spiked once again.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Selvig said the cube is a doorway to the other end of space. A door could be opened from both sides.”

The Tesseract began to crackle and spark, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. The bursts peaked, forming a swirl of coalesced energy that shot out of the array housing the cube and a portal began to open. It grew for a few more moments before collapsing, a wave of energy sweeping across the room and knocking everyone to the floor.

Fury and Natasha slowly picked themselves up as they eyed the excess energy gathering at the room’s ceiling and the two figures who were kneeling on the ground where the portal had been moments before.

Loki rose, a feral grin on his face and scepter in hand, while the Controller watched carefully without moving.

“Sir!” Fury called out as the trickster god reached his full height, “Please put down the spear!”

A gunshot tore through the air, knocking Fury off his feet as a bullet struck him. Natasha dropped down into a crouched position, her pistols drawn and at the ready, and scanned the room for the shooter. _There. Guard by the door with the semi-automatic assault rifle._ To her surprise, almost everyone in the room began to move forward to the area before the two men who had come through the portal and kneeled before them.

“Milords,” Erik Selvig said as he bowed his head. “We have almost four minutes until the portal’s energy destroys this facility.”

The Controller rose to his feet. “Then we have little time. Secure the phase-two weapons and escape the facility. It would not do to lose that technology or you, our soldiers.”

Loki strode forward and snatched the Tesseract from the array housing it and placed it within a nearby storage case as the Controller’s thralls swiftly exited the room to effectuate their orders, all spare four armed guards who stayed behind to guard the pair.

 _Acting now will accomplish little and probably get me killed_ , Natasha noted with narrowed eyes as she watched the proceedings unfold before her, still cloaked in shadow. She glanced down at the Director who was breathing heavily but still alive. _Him too._ She carefully waited a half of a minute after the cluster of six had left before slipping her pistols into their holsters and reaching for her communicator with one hand as she helped the Director to his feet with the other. “Hill, Coulson, this is Widow. The cube created a portal, two men came through, and almost everyone in the room began to mindlessly obey them. Brainwashed S.H.I.E.L.D. employees are going after the phase-two weapons. The two men have the cube and are traveling with four armed guards. One is wearing green and gold armor and carrying a scepter. The other is in a suit, wearing an earpiece, and has closely cropped black hair. We have three minutes until the facility is destroyed by the portal energy. I’m getting Fury out of here — he’s been shot.”

“Widow, this is Hill,” came the reply. “It’s not just that room’s occupants. As far as I can tell, everyone from this facility is affected. Coulson?”

“Same,” Phil confirmed. “What the hell are we dealing with here?”

“Four of us can’t stop four hundred of them,” Fury ground out into his communicator as he roughly pushed himself up onto his knees with one hand while using the other to dig out the bullet partially trapped in the armored vest under his uniform. “If you can manage it, get a tracking device onto any of them, but _especially_ one of the six with the cube. Be at the chopper in two minutes, or we’re leaving without you.” With Natasha’s help, he pulled himself onto his feet and, together, the two of them fled the room as quickly as possible. _Yeah, this is_ just _what I fucking needed._


	16. Chapter Thirteen: A Song of Anger and Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_“Widow, this is Hill,” came the reply. “It’s not just that room’s occupants. As far as I can tell, everyone from this facility is affected. Coulson?”_

_“Same,” Phil confirmed. “What the hell are we dealing with here?”_

_“Four of us can’t stop four hundred of them,” Fury ground out into his communicator as he roughly pushed himself up onto his knees with one hand while using the other to dig out the bullet partially trapped in the armored vest under his uniform. “If you can manage it, get a tracking device onto any of them, but_ especially _one of the six with the cube. Be at the chopper in two minutes, or we’re leaving without you.” With Natasha’s help, he pulled himself onto his feet and, together, the two of them fled the room as quickly as possible._ Yeah, this is  _just_ what I fucking needed.

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Chapter Thirteen: A Song of Anger and Sorrow_

“Where words fail, music speaks.”

Hans Christian Andersen

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 04:10a, EST | Stark Tower, NYC**

Clint shot to his feet immediately, putting himself between the Hulk and the now fleeing people who had previously been traveling by, and brought his hand to his communicator. “J, call Fury and tell him Bruce is hulked out,” he barked as Megan extricated herself from the Hulk’s arm and scrambled to the archer’s side, tears of fear still fresh in her eyes.

The Hulk clambered to his feet and released an unearthly shout, as if he was telling the world that it would take more than a ninety-three story fall to stop him. Megan paled, a whimper escaping her lips as her goggles’ HUD informed her of how many people were nearby — the lives that had been put in danger in order to save her. “Clint, I’m the only one who can stop him,” she said in a rush as the Hulk’s eyes locked onto the two heroes. “Get out of here!”

 _She’s right_ , he admitted to himself before he began to back away slowly, not wanting to draw attention to himself as she began to try and get the beast to focus on her. _I got lucky in Nevada. He had literally hundreds of people to work his way through first last time, and I was the person he was most attached to in the area. That isn’t the case here._

“Bruce!” she shouted, waving her arms wildly, trying to buy Clint and the pedestrians time. “Bruce, look at me! You saved us! You need to stop now!” An indicator popped up in her HUD, announcing that S.H.I.E.L.D. would be there in just under two minutes, thanks to their close proximity to the Tower. _Two minutes. I need to hold him off for at least that much!_ The Hulk slowly approached her, his posture relaxing somewhat as he recognized her face and appearance, even with the goggles obscuring her face. “That’s right, you _know_ me,” she crooned imploringly. “I need you to be calm for me, honey. Can you please calm down?”

The sound of someone running towards them from her right, his left, and both turned just in time for Steve to arrive, tear the side-view mirror off of a car, and hurl it into the Hulk’s face. “Get away from her!”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Megan muttered as her transformed lover released a roar of anger and charged at the super soldier. “Cap, get the hell away! You need to let me handle it!”

Steve didn’t listen, but that was understandable. He was chivalrous to a fault and, moreover, he had no knowledge of her relationship with the green monstrosity now charging him down. “Get out of here! I’ll buy you time!” he shouted before clashing with the Hulk, using both of his arms to deflect away the fist that swung down at him like a mallet.

Clint, who had managed to get a short distance from Megan by the point the mirror had been thrown, called out, “Cap, you don’t have all the information! You have to let her confront him!”

The Hulk brutally side swept Steve with the hand the super soldier hadn’t just blocked, sending him careening into a nearby abandoned car. His head swiveled and neon green eyes locked onto the sharpshooter. Now reminded of the man’s presence, he abandoned his current target and began to barrel towards the archer while releasing yet another roar of fury.

 _That’s not good._ Clint turned on his heel to sprint away but promptly stepped on a piece of rubble he hadn’t seen. His bare, right foot painfully slipped on the obstacle, sending the blonde crashing to the ground.

Seeing her friend in danger, Megan began sprinting to his aid. As the Hulk skidded to a halt over his target and brought his fist crashing down, she reached the fallen sharpshooter and, without consciously thinking her action threw, raised her left arm to block and braced her right arm underneath it. She was slick with sweat, and just before the green skin clashed with her own pale white, the watch face upon her wrist rotated upwards with her motion and was crushed. The blow was brutal and threw up a cloud of dust as rubble from the trio’s earlier fall was blown away.

Clint watched with wide eyes as the dust settled, revealing an incredible scene. Megan still stood above him, electricity faintly crackling across her skin, and — in place of the yoga pants, camisole, and goggles she had been wearing moments before — was the Asgardian armor she had last worn nearly a year ago. Nearby, Steve had recovered and was likewise staring, his eyes wide and face pale. Though she was as surprised as anyone by what had just happened, the armor clad Megan knew that if there was ever going to be a moment to take charge and end this debacle, it was now. “Bruce, love, I need you to be calm.”

The Hulk stared at her, suddenly realizing who he had struck. “Pearl,” his inhuman voice rumbled.

“That’s right, I’m your Pearl,” she said softly. She removed her arms from their defensive posture, strode forward, and engulfed him as best as she could in a hug. “Please stop this,” she said before releasing a soft sob and beginning to cry. The Hulk took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly began to shrink back into Bruce.

 _What in the world…_ Steve thought to himself as he watched the spectacle incredulously.

Clint just released a thankful sigh before beginning to pull himself up to lean against a nearby car, favoring his left foot. “It’s okay now,” he said clearly into his communicator as the black S.H.I.E.L.D. SUVs began to arrive. “Iron got him to change back.”

“I’m so sorry, Pearl…” Bruce murmured mournfully once he finally reached his human form. “I’m so, _so_ sorry…”

Megan said nothing, just clinging onto him like a lifeline as her Asgardian armor slowly faded away, restoring her original attire.

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 08:33a, CST | Unknown underground location, under three levels of lead-lined flooring**

“Is this what you need?” the Controller asked, holding up a tablet with a picture of a metallic mineral and a readout of information.

“Yeah, iridium,” Erik confirmed after he’d glanced at the screen with his blue eyes, which now had a hue different than they naturally had. “It’s found in meteorites and forms anti-protons. Very hard to get a hold of.”

“Especially if S.H.I.E.L.D. knows you need it…” the other man murmured, his own eyes the same shade.

“Well, I didn’t even know!” the astrophysicist proclaimed. His flickered to the approaching Loki. “The Tesseract has shown me so much,” he told the trickster god, his tone becoming worshipful. “It’s… it’s more than knowledge. It’s truth.”

“I know,” Loki affirmed. “But… It touches everyone differently.” He turned to the Controller — who was now, himself, controlled — and asked, “What did it show you, Sandhurst?”

He scrolled down the page, eyeing the biographical information listed for the man who held the rare element they would need to stabilize the Tesseract’s portal the next time they opened it. “I see my next thralls.”

The Asgardian nodded before asking, “Tell me more about these… _Avengers_ that may try to stop us. Are they a threat?”

“To each other, more likely, since Stark and Barton are under my control. The beast is as well, so long as he remains human, but my slave disc will invariably be broken if he transforms.”

Loki paused for a moment, lost in thought. Eventually, he replied, “I want to know everything you can tell me about this team. I would… test… their mettle. I am weary of scuttling in shadow. I mean to rule this world, not burrow in it.”

“It’s a risk…”

“Oh _yes_ ,” the trickster god murmured, giving the general of his human army a toothy smile.

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 03:33p, UYST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, the middle of the Atlantic Ocean**

Megan, who had managed to obtain a brush and fix her hair at some point during her travel to the helicarrier, stepped out of the flight deck into a nearby hallway and pulled out her phone as Fury began administrating the process of converting the helicarrier from sea to air travel.

“Megan?” Danny said as he answered her call via the speakers in his suite. “Is that you? Oh my god, I haven’t heard from you in hours! What happened to you?”

She cringed, regretful that she had taken so long to check in on him. She had been understandably distracted dealing with the fallout of the events at her Tower and answering the director’s summons to the helicarrier, which had all been made worse by Steve Rogers’ presence, but she still sincerely wished she had called earlier. “Hey, Danny, it’s me. I’m sorry, I took so long to get back to you. I’ve been… err, busy… dealing with what happened,” she finished somewhat lamely, cringing again. _Well, I can’t very well tell him the sordid details. I’ve yet to drag Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey into S.H.I.E.L.D. business (Well, there was the incident with Pepper and Stane… Oh, and the one with Rhodey and Vanko… But those_ totally _weren’t my fault! … Yeah, I suck at this hardcore.), and I’m sure as hell not about to start with Danny!_

“Are you okay, at least? I just about freaked when I saw you fall the first time, and when I saw you fall the _second_ time… And when the green guy — Bruce, I think you said? — attacked you…”

She frowned. “How did you see all of that? I told Jarvis to keep you in the panic room!”

“He did!” Danny reassured before pausing. “I just… err, kind of hacked into his security files later and watched the footage.”

Both of her eyebrows shot up. “Whoa, now how did you manage _that_?” she asked, impressed in spite of herself.

“I’m confused. Did I tell you I studied computer programming in my free time, or did I just imagine that? To be honest, I haven’t slept since yesterday, so I could totally be hallucinating that.”

“No, you did,” she confirmed. “I just didn’t realize you’d learned _that_ much. Hacking Jarvis in any way, shape, or form is pretty damn impressive.”

The young brunette preened at that, not that she could see it. “Thanks! I’m gonna let you go be ‘busy dealing with what happened’ now.”

“Yeah, I actually am still sort of in the middle of that,” she admitted, stealing a glance at the doorway leading to the flight deck. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Just before she ended the call, she heard him morosely ask, “Please don’t die?”

She wiped away the tear that welled up in her eye at that. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s… reassuring?”

She cringed. Again. “Danny, I’m… I’m _sorry_ about all of this. So sorry. I didn’t mean to pull you into this, and I’ll understand completely if you want to leave.”

“ _No_!” came the teenager’s vehement reply. There was a brief, pregnant silence for a second before he eventually added with a degree of his calm reclaimed, “You’re taking care of me, and _I’m_ going to take care of _you_. If that means that I have to let you do crazy shit, worry about you the whole time, then give you a wicked hug when you get back, then that’s what I’ll do. We’re… we’re _family_ , right? We have to take care of each other.”

“Oh, Danny,” she managed to get out before choking up, beginning to feel a bit overcome.

“Boy?” he added, hoping to lighten the mood with a joke.

It worked. She gave him a watery laugh before replying, “Confession: I love that song too.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line before Danny suddenly began to sing, his voice a tad squeaky at times, but obviously heartfelt. “But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow, or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow. ‘Tis I’ll be here, in sunshine or in shadow…”

Megan jumped in for the end, her own soprano unpracticed as she had never sung much, but she too was clearly singing from the heart. “Oh, Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so!”

Bruce ducked his head through the doorway at that point, his expression somewhat confused but nevertheless pleased at hearing her sing for the first time. “Fury’s almost done; he’s activating the retro-reflection panels now.”

She gave him a thumbs up to show she’d heard him then said into the phone, “Bruce just came. They need me now.”

“I understand. Look forward to that hug, okay? Go save the world.”

She smiled brilliantly as she wiped away the tears that had come out while she listened to him sing. “You know it. Goodbye, Danny.”

“Goodbye, Meg.”

She hung up, her smile still bright and directly contrasting her tear stained face, and walked back onto the bridge as Fury ordered, “Begin a face trace using the camera data from the New Mexico site. I want these people — _any_ of them — found ASAP.”

He turned on his heel and moved from his consoles to the table behind him. His eyes surveyed the people assembled there: Maria Hill, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, and Megan Stark, who had just taken her seat. “Gentlemen,” he greeted. Megan moved her somewhat bloodshot eyes from him to Natasha, to Hill, and then back to him. She quirked her eyebrow in a way that said ‘Really? Half the people in front of you are women.’ before rolling her eyes and sighing. “And ladies,” the director amended, before continuing. “We need to form a plan of action, and, to do that, we all need to debrief recent events and get everybody on the same page. Agent Romanoff?”

The Russian agent quickly recounted the events that occurred in New Mexico, bringing Megan, Bruce, Clint, and Steve up to speed. When she was finished, Fury had the other two agents present in New Mexico add any missing details. Once they had, he turned his attention to the other female field-agent present. “Agent Stark?”

“I woke up from a nightmare at 04:04a EST…” the petite genius began before trailing off, her eyes glazing over as she remembered how she knew the time when she’d awoken. _Those moments where I lost time… They’re suddenly so disturbing. Why do I feel so different about them now?_ Her behavior elicited a confused look from Steve, but everyone else at the table knew what was happening; even Hill, who had heard about this particular quirk of hers.

 _Memory-me_ , rational-Megan said, _I need a run-down has changed about real-Me — other than her thoughts about her episodes — since she woke up this morning._

 _Her sudden ability to block the Hulk, the loss of the Mark V, and the loss of her watch_ , the mental construct answered.

_Okay, the first one is decidedly the most extraordinary of the bunch and could potentially explain this change in her thoughts. However, the only hints we have about a cause is her Asgardian armor and the electricity she was emitting, and it’s impossible to determine whether this is what I’m looking for sure without knowing more about it. The armor seems unlikely, unless this is a byproduct of something that ‘Ghost of the past’ character did to her, but is also unlikely, since he phased her armor, not her. The last…_

Megan’s eyes flicked to her wrist. The watch Pepper had given her was missing.

“What is she doing?” Steve asked, his confusion plain as day. “Did she forget wh—”

“Quiet,” Bruce softly commanded, his neon green eyes focused on his lover.

 _Okay, the watch is a possibility too_ , rational-Megan continued, _but it seems unlikely that a_ watch _would have any impact on real-Me. Let’s move on to the episodes themselves; maybe there’s a hint there…_

 _All episodes occurred while working on the Stark Industries prosthetic line_ , memory-Megan supplied.

The super soldier’s expression darkened. “And can someone please explain why he is here after he trashed a block and nearly killed these two?” he asked, gesturing at Megan and Clint as he finished.

_Okay. Was there anything in particular that real-Me found odd when working on the prosthetics?_

_That disc she designed to supplement the internal sensors she used with her own leg’s design_ , emotional-Megan interjected.

“Dr. Banner is here for several reasons,” Fury commented softly, not wanting to break the concentration of the petite genius. “First, Agent Stark is the only person who can calm him when he becomes the Hulk, so far as we know. Second, we need his expertise in gamma radiation to locate the cube. And before you ask, Agent Stark is analyzing something — likely something that happened at her Tower.”

 _Oh? What was odd about that?_ rational-Megan inquired.

_At the time, she was proud of the idea for it, but just now, when we you two mentioned the prosthetics, she thought about the disc and wasn’t proud of it at all._

Steve was mollified regarding what was happening with Megan, but he still looked less than thrilled by Bruce’s presence and unconsciously nursed his arm where the Hulk had side swept him earlier that day.

 _That disc was approximately the size of her watch face, and real-Me doesn’t remember the circuitry containing anything at all regarding nerve control_ , memory-Megan said.

 _Which it should, if it supplemented the internal sensors_ , Megan concluded. Her still glazed eyes flicked to Bruce’s wrist, confirming that his transformation had destroyed his watch. They moved to Clint’s wrist; his watch was still intact. _Maybe the watch is the trigger after all? I need a second opinion_ , she thought to herself as she rose to her feet and slowly moved towards her archer friend, pretending to pace. “Bruce, I need to check: Do you remember anything strange about that disc I added to our prosthetic line to supplement the internal sensors?”

Bruce took a moment to think, his expression growing confused. “Yes. You asked me to look at the design, and at the time, I didn’t notice anything odd… But now, looking back, I think none of the circuitry was designed to transfer nerve-based mental commands.”

Now next to Clint, Megan’s hands darted at his wrist and, quick as lightning, unhooked its strap and removed it from his wrist. She hummed in acknowledgement as her eyes began to carefully stare at the back of the watch face. “Thank you for confirming my thoughts. I suspect someone was brainwashing us using our watches.” Her still glazed eyes darted to the side of the table where the New Mexico group sat. “Natasha, Maria, Phil, were all those people acting strangely in New Mexico wearing watches?” All of their eyes widened as they realized that not only was that true but also that they were all identical to the one she was carefully holding by its band. Natasha voiced the thought.

Megan turned her eyes back to Fury as they finally lost their glaze. “I’m at least 95% certain that the watches are the root problem for the S.H.I.E.L.D. employees who went rogue on you in New Mexico. Also, I won’t be able to tell you for certain until I dissemble this watch, but I’m willing to bet the back of this watch face is the same disc that I installed in the Stark Industries prosthetics while under my own watch’s control. If that’s the case, then every person who’s had one installed since the beginning of the year is under thrall.”

The director sighed wearily. “That could be a _serious_ problem,” he muttered before asking, “What do you need to dissemble the watch? I’ll have someone get it while you debrief.”

“Definitely gloves. Preferably something thick, for the sake of safety; I don’t want to be affected by it. Otherwise, a micro screwdriver set is all.” Once her request had been passed on, she dutifully recounted the morning’s events, beginning from when she woke up.

“I’ll get Jarvis to send me that dossier we recovered last May,” she said as she concluded, carefully analyzing the dissembled watch laid out before her on the table, which she had begun dissecting earlier during her tale, once the gloves and toolkit had arrived. “It was about an individual named ‘Ghost,’ and the intruder may very well be him. If so, whatever info we can get — granted, there wasn’t much in the dossier, but still — could be helpful if he shows up.” She gestured at the suitcase at her feet. “Also, I already have Jarvis crafting me two replacement Mark V armors (“I’ll be _damned_ if I’ll be caught unprepared like this again.”), but I brought the Mark IV along in case I need it in the meantime.” Once she finished, Bruce and Clint added in some minor details of their own.

Fury sat down in a chair and steepled his fingers as he considered the information. “Dr. Banner, I am naturally less than thrilled that you hulked out in NYC — _again_. However, when I take into account the degree of control you had before being attacked by Captain Rogers, and the fact that we now have further proof of Agent Stark’s ability to… handle you, your probation will remain the same. Agent Stark, that means you do not stray far from him under _any_ circumstances, unless you have _my_ explicit permission. Is this in any way unclear?”

The couple glanced at each other before replying in unison. “Yes, sir.”

“Stark, what have you concluded about that watch?”

She grimaced. “It’s definitely the same part.”

“We got a hit,” Jasper Sitwell called out from his station across the room. All eyes in the room moved to him as Fury stood from his seat and swiftly crossed over to him. “67% match. Wait, cross match…” The bald agent turned his gaze up to the director. “79%.”

“Location?”

“Stuttgart, Germany — 28 Königstrasse.”

Megan’s eyes drifted up to look at the screen displaying the results of the face trace, the first time she’d seen one of the two main culprits from the incident in New Mexico. She froze. “Director, that’s Loki.”

Eight pairs of eyes — Fury’s, Sitwell’s, and those at the table — locked onto her. “Stark?” Fury inquired.

She rose from her seat and strode over to the monitor, taking a closer look. “I’m not mistaken. That’s definitely the guy Thor and I fought in Asgard last May.” She frowned. “He’s looking pretty good for a dead guy.”

Fury’s eyes moved to the group at the table. “Romanoff, Barton, Rogers — I need you prepared to fight an Asgardian and on your way to Stuttgart ASAP. Banner — locate that cube. Stark — you’re on Hulk duty, so stay here; figure out a way to counter these mind-controlling watches. Hill, Coulson — resume your helicarrier duties. Move out.”

* * *

Once Megan and Bruce entered the lab, officially alone for the first time since he’d hulked out, they promptly locked lips.

“I am so… _so_ sorry,” he said, briefly interrupted in the middle by her gripping his shirt and pulling him down to her height for another kiss.

“It’s not your fault, honey,” she murmured. “If Rogers hadn’t shown up and… thrown a fucking side-view mirror at you ( _Honestly, who would throw_ that _at the Hulk?_ ), you’d have calmed down right away,” she managed to say in between kisses.

He pulled her into a fierce, protective hug, which she gladly accepted and reciprocated by wrapping her own arms around him as well. “And if you hadn’t stopped me, I would have _killed_ Clint!” he exclaimed, his eyes growing uncharacteristically wet. He couldn’t help it; he had never come so close to killing somebody he _truly_ cared for while hulked out.

“It’s not your fault, honey,” she whispered, repeating her words. “It’s all over. I stopped you.”

They sat there for a minute, just holding one another, and drinking in the calm the other’s presence provided them. Once their composure was somewhat restored, they ended the embrace and brought their focus back to where they needed to be. They both had jobs to do and not much time to do them.

Shortly after they had started in on their assigned tasks, however, Bruce asked, “Do you have any ideas about how you were able to stop me? My memory of it is hazy, naturally.”

Megan paused, setting aside the tool she had been holding. “I unconsciously summoned my Asgardian armor,” she said, recounting her internal analysis from earlier, “and was emitting electricity from my body. I’m _guessing_ it’s some side effect from when I had Mjölnir last May, but I can’t really say for sure until I get a chance to question Thor. Speaking of whom, I’d be willing to bet he’ll show up sometime soon. Loki is behind all of this, and I’m sure Heimdall saw the events in New Mexico or is seeing what’s happening in Stuttgart right now.”

“There,” Bruce proclaimed. “I’ve got the tracking algorithm locked and sweeping for a signature now. When we get a hit, we’ll have the location within a half a mile.”

She groaned. “Well at least _you’re_ making progress. I can tell this technology affects the brain, which is obvious based on what we already know, and that it’s doing so via a signal from some external source. I should be able to make some devices that block it on a localized level, but that’s treating the symptoms rather than curing the source. Nothing is being broadcast to the disc right now, so I can’t even remotely begin to trace it back to the source.” She paused for a moment. “Either the controller isn’t issuing orders at the moment, or the disc _requests_ orders periodically once attached to someone.”

He frowned at that. “So what we really need is to attach it to someone and see if the disc sends out a signal. If it does, we can trace it, but at the same time, doing that would be really dangerous.”

“Dangerous, yes,” Megan murmured, her sky blue eyes drifting up to look into his neon green orbs. “But necessary, and with the proper _precautions_ …”

Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, resigned to agreeing. He knew the number of thralls — New Mexico and prosthetics — and how many could potentially also be affected. The minds of thousands, if not millions, of people were on the line. “I’ll go get Fury. He’ll want to hear about my progress anyway.”

As her lover left to retrieve the director, she abandoned the watch before her for the moment and pulled out her phone. “Jarvis, how’re we doing on the new Mark Vs?”

“I just finished them both now, so they will arrive at your location within thirty minutes, ma’am.”

She smiled, pleased to know she wouldn’t be caught with her best armor for long. The Mark IV was naturally still a _very_ good set, but its functionality was significantly greater than that of the suitcase design due to having every major section of her armor portable via separation and the added ability of simply leaving the armor assembled and stepping out of a back that opened up. _Plus, if I’m being honest with myself, I won’t tire my arm out from lugging a suitcase around (It’s_ so _damn heavy!), and being able to assemble my suit from scattered pieces looks incredibly badass! … Sometimes, I really do act my age, don’t I?_

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 07:58p, CET | 28 Königstrasse, Stuttgart, Germany**

“Kneel!” Loki commanded as he pressed the base of his scepter into the head of the Cap, who had been knocked to the ground and just begun to rise.

“Not to today!” the super soldier cried as he batted away the metal weapon and delivered a vicious kick into the trickster god’s sternum, knocking him backwards.

“Hawkeye, have you got a shot?” Black Widow asked into her communicator as she struggled to get an opportunity to fire upon the Asgardian from the VTOL they had used to reach Germany.

“Sec,” the sharpshooter replied from a nearby rooftop he’d made his way to while the Captain’s speech distracted Loki. He snatched an arrow, having already summoned the arrowhead he wanted, and nocked it. The villain had quickly recovered from the earlier blow and grabbed the super soldier. The moment he threw the man aside and began stalking towards where he’d thrown, Clint let the arrow fly. The trickster god, however, was an Asgardian and, hearing the arrow whistling towards him, snatched it out of the air. He gave the rooftop a smug, mocking look, which was promptly removed as the arrowhead exploded.

The Captain had used the opportunity to recover and restrained Loki with a full-nelson at the same moment that a pillar of rainbow colored light crashed into the plaza nearby. When the light had dissipated, Thor was revealed. “I have business with my brother!” the thunder god pronounced from his position within the now rune covered area, his hammer at the ready. “Release him to me, Blue Man, and I shall not be forced to harm you.”

“Shit,” Hawkeye murmured before reaching for his communicator. “Widow, patch me through the loud speakers.”

 _That’s Thor. Isn’t he supposed to be a friendly?_ the Cap thought to himself, remembering the primer he’d been given on the way to the hellicarrier that had contained an overview, including pictures, of the armored man before. “I can’t do that,” he answered, who had begun stalking towards where the super soldier was restraining Loki. “If we give him up to you, then the Tesseract’s lost.”

“Done,” Natasha announced. “Whatever you’re gonna say, say it quickly.”

Thor growled as he reached out and grabbed one of his brother’s arms, wrenching it from the super soldier’s grasp. But he paused, doing nothing further, when he heard a loud voice from above say, “Thor! Please wait a second!”

The Asgardian flicked his gaze up to the VTOL, where the voice had come from, and yelled out, “Speak quickly, metal bird, or you too shall face my wrath!”

“Do you remember your promise to ‘Lady Megan’ and the ‘Son of Coul’?” the sharpshooter replied. A look of realization began to dawn upon the thunder god’s face. “Yes, you promised them you were their ally. We’re here _on their behalf_ , and we need you to work _with_ us — not against us.”

Thor’s eyes moved to the no longer struggling Loki — who was hiding a grin, pleased that his ‘brother’ wouldn’t ruin the plan he’d decided upon — then up to the Captain. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the VTOL and called out, “If what you say is true, metal bird, then I would be happy to extend my aid to you. I shall yield, but know that if you have tricked me, then I will make you rue the day you falsely claimed my Midgardian allies’ confidence.”

“You have our word, Thor,” Hawkeye said. “We need you to join us in… err, me ( _I can’t believe he thinks that_ I’m _the VTOL…_ ), so that we can join Lady Megan and the Son of Coul.”

The thunder god nodded his acceptance and carefully returned Loki’s arm to the Captain. “Do not harm him, blue man. I am watching.”

The super soldier gave a curt nod. _I never thought I’d be so happy to work with a guy who calls me ‘blue man,’_ he thought to himself, carefully keeping his groan internal.

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 05:42p, UYST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, the middle of the Atlantic Ocean**

“Transport six-six-bravo, please relay confirm codes,” the attendant in the helicarrier’s flight tower broadcast. “I’ve got you on the computer but not on the day log. What is your haul? Over.”

“Arms and ammunition. Over,” the pilot of the VTOL responded, the Controller seated silently next to him in the co-pilot position. In the rear section of the vehicle, a team of eight soldiers were finishing their preparations for infiltrating the flying fortress, each armed with a specialized weapons that launched slave discs designed to attach themselves to targets using fine metal claws that would establish the necessary skin contact for the Controller to command them. Strapped to their backs were extra guns, and in every possible storage space in their uniforms, they had discs that could be applied by hand — all to be handed off to the newly controlled. And when they ran low on supplies, they would return to the VTOL and retrieve more.

“Transport six-six-bravo, you are cleared to land. Proceed to the designated landing area.”

* * *

Bruce had returned some time later with Fury, who was pleased by the good news in Stuttgart but less than thrilled at the prospect of subjecting someone to the mind control device Megan had discovered earlier. “What can you tell me about that tech, Agent Stark?” the man asked once the pair had reached the lab, where the petite genius had carefully reassembled the device and was now holding it between two heavily gloved fingers.

She glanced up at the two men. “As I told Bruce before, it definitely affects the brain, and it does so via orders received by signal. I can make localized devices that block the receipt of orders, but that doesn’t help us stop the orders from being issued in the first place. Unfortunately, either the person issuing the orders isn’t giving out new ones, or the disc itself makes the request for orders once attached to someone. I’d need to attach it someone to be sure.” She set aside the tech and removed her gloves, adding, “Also, I can confirm it’s made with materials that were secured on Earth, which makes it highly unlikely that Loki designed them.” She looked up at the two men. “I’d like to try attaching the disc to someone, but it’s very risky due to all the information I’m missing. Care to fill in some details?”

“What do you need to know?” the director asked.

“The debrief mentioned two individuals arriving by portal in New Mexico. Do we have an ID on the other person?”

“Basil Sandhurst,” he supplied, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to give up this particular piece of information. “He was the S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist in charge of overseeing project ‘Mr. Blue.’”

Realization dawned on the lovers’ faces. “Samuel Sterns,” Bruce muttered. “That means it’s likely that Sandhurst designed this technology, and he did it using something he learned while examining Sterns.”

“What was S.H.I.E.L.D. working on regarding the Tesseract at the New Mexico site?” Megan asked. “I know from the stories my dad told me that Hydra successfully used the Tesseract to create some very advanced technology. Sandhurst was at the site, so he may have found some way to do so as well and incorporated it into whatever he’s using to broadcast the signals. That would help narrow the search down.”

Fury schooled his features to be carefully neutral. “That’s classified. I can’t tell you.” He would have given them the half lie that they were working on creating unlimited clean energy for the world, but he knew that at least one of them would undoubtedly question why Stark Industries wasn’t involved in some capacity, given their focus on the same.

She frowned. “There are a lot of lives at stake here, sir. Over four hundred at the New Mexico through the watches, over _forty thousand_ through prosthetics, and those are just the numbers we know about. Bruce, Clint, and I were given watches back at the beginning of the year. Who knows where else Sandhurst has spread these discs? For that matter, he we have no guarantee that he hasn’t hidden this technology as more than just discs.”

The director’s expression tightened, the implications driven home. The rogue S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist got the technology into the Stark Industries prosthetics, and he could just have easily done the same with other companies. They were facing an army that numbered in the thousands, if not millions at this point, and they had their hands on phase-two weapons. “Do you remember what you said to Coulson when the two of you interrogated Thor last May, Stark?”

Megan blinked at the non-sequitur, her eyes briefly glazing over as she scoured her memory. “‘Asgard, Odin, the Frost Giants… They’re all real. We are _so_ outgunned,’” she quoted as she realized what he was driving at. “You were making weapons.”

“We were,” Fury confirmed, causing Bruce to tense. “And now, _someone_ has stolen your armor, which puts them and whoever they work for in the same ballpark. Yet another threat. The world is filling up with people that can’t be matched — can’t be controlled.”

Megan saw some people at the door to the lab in the corner of her eye, but she kept her focus on the man before her. “ _Controlled_ ,” she angrily bit out. “Just like the people Sandhurst is _controlling_. Do you have any idea what a slippery slope you’ve put S.H.I.E.L.D. on? Making weapons from the Tesseract is _exactly_ what Hydra did. Trying to control people is _exactly_ what Hydra did. You’re making S.H.I.E.L.D. the _new Hydra_!”

* * *

Loki slowly paced the floor of the glass prison cell he had been taken to a grin upon his face. _Everything is as I planned it._

When the trickster god had discovered the man he dubbed ‘Controller,’ he had seen opportunity. He had already begun to make arrangements with Thanos and the Other. All he had needed to get his hands on the scepter was proof of concept — proof that he _could_ retrieve the Tesseract and deliver it to the mad titan. With the Bifrost still intact and Odin awake once more, it had been necessary. Having Sandhurst at his side meant more than just a possibility of success; it meant _certainty_.

Now, Loki had an army of millions of humans that spanned their world, and when he opened the portal to summon the Chitauri, his general would give his lesser army the word — _panic_. They would sow discord and chaos in the name of the ‘end of the world,’ causing division amongst the Midgardian governments, a force that not even S.H.I.E.L.D. could hinder. Against such numbers, there was only one recourse: Those who could fight hundreds, even thousands, single-handedly — the Avengers.

 _And how will they have time to fight others, when they’ll be so busy fighting themselves?_ Already his human soldiers were within S.H.I.E.L.D.’s precious fortress, taking the minds within it by siege. The beast, the Hulk, would be immune, as would his Asgardian ‘brother’ Thor, but the other four were not as fortunate. _Captain America, the ultimate soldier out of time; Black Widow, the deadly spy; Hawkeye, the perfect archer; and the Iron Woman, the unparalleled genius. They can keep the other two busy long enough for the Chitauri to completely reach Earth and for me to return to Him._

He released a short laugh. _And even that is presuming they leave here alive._

All was going according to plan.

* * *

“What’s going on in here?” Steve asked, his tone and expression dark as he, Clint, Natasha, and Thor joined the three in the lab.

Before Fury could reply, Thor added stormily, “Using the Tesseract in such a manner is what drew Loki and his allies to it. It’s a signal to all the realms that the Earth is ready for a higher form of war!”

“People like _you_ forced our hand!” the director retorted. “We had to come up with something!”

“A nuclear deterrent,” Megan drawled, her tone icy and sardonic. “‘Cause that always calms everything right down.”

“Remind me again how your family made its fortune, Stark?”

The petite genius snarled, her expression becoming thunderous and her hands balling up into fists as she attempted to restrain herself from throttling him. “You listen to me, _Nicholas Fury_. This is _not_ about what my family and I did in the past — it’s about what you and this organization are doing _right now_. I’ll help you stop Loki, but if you insist on building weapons of mass destruction with the Tesseract, then I’m gone. I _refuse_ to be a party to such a thing. The cube needs to go back to Asgard, where it _belongs_!”

“I agree,” Bruce chipped in tersely, the light dancing dangerously across his eyes. “If you do this, S.H.I.E.L.D. will be crossing the line that separates it from the people it’s supposed to be fighting.”

“You need to remove yourself from this environment, Doctor,” Steve said, stepping forward, his earlier fight with the Hulk at the front of his thoughts. “It’s stressful; you can’t allow yourself to get angry.”

“I’m not going to leave just because you’re getting a bit twitchy,” the brunette responded.

“Rogers, you haven’t got a clue!” Megan added, taking a step closer to the blonde. “I’m here, so Bruce is _safe_.”

“No, it’s you two who don’t have a clue, especially you, Stark!” the super soldier snapped, his steely blue eyes locking onto her own sky blue orbs. “I’m not going to allow you to threaten the lives of everyone on this ship, just because you thinks he’s safe! You’re too close to the problem, just like your father was with you!”

* * *

Loki stepped out of the glass prison, its door opened courtesy of the Controller, who had already retrieved the Asgardian’s scepter. He took his weapon and together, they began making their way up to the waiting VTOL. _They’re making this even easier than I expected._ “How many aboard the ship remain uncontrolled?” the trickster god asked his general.

The rogue S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist checked with a few people via radio before replying, “Approximately 95% of the ship, sir. We haven’t controlled anyone on the bridge, nor the lab near it where the Avengers are, but we’ve set the devices in both areas, as planned.”

“Then we are finished here. Order the controlled to evacuate to the VTOLs then, once we are in the air, detonate the bombs. Leave the bridge and lab for last. I want them to realize how utterly they have failed before their end.”

* * *

Electricity flared around Megan as she released a bloodcurdling scream, her Asgardian armor appearing out of thin air as she burst forward and slammed her fist into Steve’s face with a blow so hard that he was flung back, crashing through the computer running the tracing algorithm, damaging it enough to destroy it.

The rest of the room’s occupants sprang into motion, Bruce and Clint grabbing Megan’s arms in order to hold her back from attacking Steve again — though Bruce looked as though he wished to punch the man as well and was only held back by the knowledge that he would almost certainly hulk out if he did so — while Fury and Natasha did the same with Steve as he recovered and began to stalk towards her. Thor, however, looked on with confusion at what had sparked such anger in the petite genius as well as what had happened to her physically.

“Shut your goddamn mouth, Rogers!” she screamed. “You’re wrong about Bruce, you’re wrong about Dad, and you’re wrong about me!”

“You were too young!” Steve shouted back. “You were just young, confused, and didn’t know any better, but Howard should have! He should have known you would grow out of it — that it was just a phase!”

His words made her nightmare flash before her eyes, adding fuel to the hatred of him that burned within her. “You self-righteous prick!” she snarled back. “How can you say that when you let them shoot you up with that serum! All your life, you were a gangly boy so weak he couldn’t harm a fly. You knew it was wrong — that you were somebody else. You knew you had the heart of the soldier, and if they could just _fix_ your body, you would show them! Don’t you get it, Rogers?! You are just. Like. _M_ E.”

Clint grunted as he struggled to stop the enraged woman from tearing into Steve. _I don’t know what the hell is happening to her, but there’s no way Bruce — while he’s human, anyway — and I can hold back someone who can take a blow from the Hulk for very long._

“I’m nothing like you, Stark! Making my body stronger is _nothing_ like you taking your God given gender and casting off, thinking you know better than Him!”

“Really?! You’re just going to deny the evidence and justify it with your personal religious interpretation?! Why can’t people like you just leave us alone! All we’re trying to do is be _ourselves_!”

“You just don’t get it! I’m trying to save you _from_ yourself!”

Before either of them could say another word, Hill’s voice rang through the room. “Director Fury, all of our aircraft have just taken off without prior flight authorization. I’m trying t—” At that moment, a tremendous roar cut her off as it echoed through the entire ship. Alarms began to wail in warning, and red light bathed the hallways as she breathed out. “Oh my god. We’ve lost all six engines.”

Megan and Steve paled, their differences set aside in light of the bigger problem. “Stark,” the Captain said, his honed leadership instincts rearing up within him, “we need to evacuate as many people as possible. How many can your sui—”

The floor beneath them exploded.

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 08:17a, EST | Stark Tower**

Pepper and Happy and had naturally come to check on the Tower’s occupants as soon as they’d heard about the incident that morning, but only Danny had been there when they arrived. The teenager had at least been able to provide them an explanation for the events, but in the end, it just made the trio worry more about the safety of Megan, Bruce, and Clint. In an effort to keep her mind focused on anything other than horrible ‘what-if?’ scenarios, Pepper had dragged the newest addition to Megan’s family to the R&D department and begun showing him around.

“Whoa…” Danny murmured as they reached the area where Jarvis was swiftly forging two Mark Vs, mechanical arms danced back and forth a flurry of motion as the worked on the various pieces. He had seen her suits on TV, on the internet, and, that morning, in person, but this sight was fascinating in an altogether different way. _It’s rawer_ , he realized. _It’s so easy to see the finished product and forget about this — forget that it was ever something less than amazing. The Iron Woman… I saw her this morning, but I didn’t_ see _her. See the journey she’s been on… The hardships she’s survive, the uncertainty she’s felt, the trials she’s faced, the growth she’s experienced, the battles she’s fought… The Iron Woman isn’t a fancy piece of technology… She’s Megan Stark, the woman who wears it._

“Danny,” Pepper said tearing him from his thoughts.

“Yes?” he asked, noticing she looked somewhat distracted, as if something had just occurred to her.

“I forgot that I need to go let some folks in to work on the roof. Don’t go up there, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smile, which she returned. He turned his gaze back to the assembly process as she turned on her heel and moved back to the elevator.

“Ground floor, Jarvis,” Pepper requested.

“Right away, Miss Potts,” the AI intoned as the elevator swiftly and smoothly made its way down to the requested floor.

“Hello, Dr. Selvig,” she greeted when the door opened, revealing the astrophysicist and two men. “Is this everything?” she asked, gesturing at the briefcase he was holding and the array being carefully carried by the other two men.

“Yes. Take us to the roof.”

“Of course.”

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 06:13p, UYST | The air above the middle of the Atlantic Ocean**

Megan awoke with a start when pieces of metal began to slam into her. _What the hell?_ was her first thought, but it didn’t take her long to remember what had — and was still — happening. _Fuck! I am so tired of falling today!_ “J!” she cried as one of the new Mark V suits finished assembling around her as she fell through the air amidst debris from the helicarrier. “Status of everyone on who was on the helicarrier!”

“You and twenty-nine other individuals are falling towards the ocean. All other crew members are dead or missing,” her AI reported.

“How many can I carry?”

“Four per suit, ma’am; eight total, counting yourself.”

_Great, so even if I had a half dozen Mark Vs, I couldn’t… No! I refuse to accept that! Gotta think about this laterally… Thor!_

“Is Thor conscious?”

“No ma’am.”

 _Fuck!_ she internally cried, knowing her time was running out. _He might be able to survive the fall, but I was hoping he could help with this… Bruce can definitely survive, and Rogers probably can; he_ did _survive being in a block of ice for sixty years after being knocked unconscious in a plane wreck. So if I don’t count those three, I need to stop twenty-six people from dying…_

Inspiration struck. “If I use a suit to only slow down the fall of a group of people, who are holding hands, how many could I definitely save?”

“Thirteen, if you act soon, ma’am. Again, you must count yourself as well.”

_Thirteen per suit. Twenty-six altogether. Leaving… only me out._

_“If the day comes when you face your death, what will you do?”_

_“Fight.”_

Megan closed her eyes, knowing what she had to do. “J, get this suit off of me. Rescue everyone except Bruce, Thor, and Rogers. The three of them are on their own.”

There was a definite pause before Jarvis replied, “Ma’am, I can’t d—”

“We don’t have time to argue about this!” she cried out, her voice cracking. “Do it _now_!”

The AI didn’t reply, but he did as ordered, removing the pieces of the suit from her, reforming them, then sending the suit off to collect the burden it could bear.

“But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,” she began singing, her voice breaking as tears welled up in her eyes.

_Fury… I hope I got through to you. Please don’t lead the organization my Dad helped found down that path. Steve… I still want to break your face, full disclosure. But still… You were my hero, once upon a time. Thank you for making the world safe for people like my family and me._

“If I am dead, as dead I well may be,”

_Natasha… Thanks for helping me, you know, not kill Pepper back then. I was a fan of that. Happy… Thanks for always being ready to do whatever stupid thing I wanted you to do for me because I was too lazy to do it myself. Also: Best bodyguard ever. That’s you, buddy._

“Ye’ll come and find the place where I am lying,”

_Pepper… I’ve got the distinct feeling that you’re going to pull me back from beyond the grave and take me to task for dying on you. Sorry in advance. Thank you for being an amazing friend. Rhodey… Thanks for being my comrade, confidante, and rescuer. It’s been my honor to know you._

“And kneel and say an Ave there for me;”

_Clint… It’s been a blast. You’re the best mentor a crazy gal like me could ask for. May your aim be true, and… Man, I’m awful at this. Uh, live long and prosper; I’m going with that. Phil… Thank you for being my friend and putting up with all my stupid teasing. I hope things work out with that cellist you mentioned._

“And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,”

_Danny, I… I’m sorry I won't be there to get that hug. Thank you for singing for me and making me feel like an older sister. Momma, Daddy… I guess I’ll be seeing you sooner than I’d intended to. Sorry about that. Feel free to ground me or something when I get up there. Thank you for being my parents and letting me be me. I love you._

“And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,”

_Bruce… There are a million things I wish I could say, but the most important is… I love you. I love you so much! I don’t know if you can ever really die, but if you can, then don’t follow me too soon. Live and love after me, okay? I… I just… Goodbye. Goodbye, my love._

“For you will bend and tell me that you love me,”

She twisted in the air to face upwards, her back parallel to the water below. _If I’m going to die falling, I want to be gazing at the heavens when it happens._

“And I shall sleep in peace until you come for me!”

As she finished the song, she opened her eyes… and sobbed with joy when she saw a great rainbow crash down upon her.


	17. Chapter Fourteen: Decisive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_“For you will bend and tell me that you love me,”_

_She twisted in the air to face upwards, her back parallel to the water below._ If I’m going to die falling, I want to be gazing at the heavens when it happens.

_“And I shall sleep in peace until you come for me!”_

_As she finished the song, she opened her eyes… and sobbed with joy when she saw a great rainbow crash down upon her._

* * *

 

 **Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
_Chapter Fourteen: Decisive_

“I demolish my bridges behind me — then there is no choice but forward.”

Fridtjof Nansen

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 06:14p, UYST (Earth Time) | Asgard**

Light washed over and around Megan, caressing her and ushering her forward to the realm she had last visited nearly a year ago: Asgard. The trip was over in moments as the rainbow bridge deposited her into the large, golden structure that housed the Bifrost. She stumbled, her body unprepared to suddenly be standing after free falling for as long as she had been. Blessedly, someone caught her handily, their sturdy form unmoved by the force of her petite body crashing into them.

She didn’t even bother to check who held her before she slung her arms around them in a tight hug and released another sob of joy, her tear stained cheek planted against their chest as the burden of her imminent death finally lifted from her completely, secure in the knowledge that the Bifrost had caught her in time. “ _Thank you_!” she cried, her voice watery. “Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ for saving me! I thought… I thought for sure I was going to die!”

A heavy hand began to awkwardly pat her back. “You’re fine now,” a gruff, somewhat boomy voice murmured. “Heimdall caught you.”

The sound of the Bifrost activating once more reached her ears, and Megan released her hug and pulled away to see what was happening, but not before she gazed up at the person who’d caught her. “Thank you for… softening the landing, Volstagg,” she softly replied with as much of a smile as she could muster, a stream of tears still racing down her face due to her still heightened emotional state. It wasn’t every day that one faced their death.

“Think nothing of it!” the red-haired Asgardian heartily replied, free from the awkward task of comforting her. He clapped her upon her shoulder, eliciting a squeak from her as she nearly fell over from the force, and gave her an odd look at how fragile she was acting. She couldn’t blame him, really. The last time he had seen her, she had obliterated the Destroyer with Thor’s power, then proceeded to don her power suit for the battle against Loki. It was understandably difficult to reconcile the battle-hardened warrior who showed no fear with the person who was an emotional wreck after sacrificing herself to save the lives of others.

She turned her watery eyes to the Bifrost and watched as twenty-eight people began to pop out of the bridge one by one. She glanced to Heimdall, the stoic watchman, and walked over to him slowly, her limbs still feeling light as her adrenaline began to wear down. “I cannot thank you enough, Heimdall,” she said once she had reached him and his orange eyes had fallen upon her.

“It was my pleasure to assist, Lady Megan,” he eventually rumbled, after carefully examining her for a moment. “I am afraid it is not safe to bring your companion, Bruce Banner, here yet. I trust you understand. While you wait, the Allfather wishes to speak with you.”

“Oh. He’s hulked out. Right, of course he’d be. I understand. Will you bring him, please, once he’s calmed down?”

“I shall,” he assented, before his eyes returned to carefully watching the symphony of light before him.

She swept her gaze about, searching for the Allfather, her eyes scanning the small group of Asgardians assembled on the bridge that led from the Bifrost into the city. Her sky blue orbs passed over the familiar faces of Sif, Fandral, and Hogun — who were next to where she had been moments earlier with Volstagg — and finally settled upon Odin, the Allfather. She began to step towards the wizened king, but she paused when he gestured behind her.

Megan glanced over her shoulder and found a waterlogged Nick Fury, Phil Coulson, and Clint Barton (his quiver and bow miraculously still in his possession after the fall from the destroyed helicarrier) moving over to her at a brisk pace, her two Mark V armors following along as the copy of Jarvis housed within each piloted them. Steve and Natasha stood nearby, likewise drenched and satisfied with merely examining their surroundings, Natasha with more discreteness than Steve. The unconscious form of Thor was being tended to by an Asgardian woman, who Megan suspected to be Frigga, though hadn’t seen her before and couldn’t be sure. The weak smile the petite genius had summoned up for Volstagg reached its normal level of brightness. “You’re all alive! I’m glad.”

As the trio reached her, Clint moved forward as though to hug her but hesitated, only to acquiesce when Megan beckoned him forward eagerly. “Meg, what happened? We saw you freefalling. Why didn’t you stay in one of the suits?” Her smile dimmed as she hugged the man, her friend and mentor who she had truly begun to care for during the course of his stay with her and Bruce. When she didn’t answer, he released her, moved his hands to her shoulders, and peered intently at her. “Meg?”

She diverted her eyes from his, unable to bear looking into them. The sound of Bifrost activating caught their attention, and they turned together to watch as the wet form of Bruce appear, his pants thankfully still intact due to their stretchiness. His eyes found hers immediately, and Clint released her as the couple raced to meet one another and immediately embraced each other. “I was so worried,” the brunette breathed out, his voice heavy with emotion. “I saw you freefalling, but I couldn’t get to you. What happened? Are you hurt?” He relinquished her from his hug and began kept his hands grasped in hers as her checked her for wounds.

“I…” she began, knowing she had to come clean. “I h-had to do it, Bruce. I had to!”

Confusion began to bleed into the concern etched in his features. “You had to? What are you talking about?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but when nothing came out, she aborted the effort and wrapped her arms tightly around him once more, pressing her face into his chest as she tried to maintain some degree of dignity. She hadn’t been aware of who was watching earlier, but that was no longer the case. His arms wound their way around her once more, his hug gentle and soothing. After taking a minute to calm herself with careful breathing, she tried to speak once more. “J-Jarvis checked… I promise,” she managed to get out before falling silent once more.

When she didn’t continue, Bruce’s neon green eyes rose to look at Clint, but the sharpshooter could only shrug. The brunette returned his focus to the petite bundle in his arms, murmuring, “Jarvis checked what, Pearl?”

That broke the dam. “When I woke up after the explosion, we were all freefalling, and Thor was unconscious. I had to do _something_ ,” she blurted out, her words rushed. “The suits could each carry four people, counting myself, so I asked him to check how many people they could handle if used to only slow the fall enough to survive hitting the water.” Her lover’s eyes began to widen, seeing where she was going with this, but she continued, oblivious. “They could handle the weight of thirteen people each. There was thirty people in the air. You could survive, and Thor and Rogers had a chance to survive as well.”

Clint and Phil paled, Fury’s only visible eye closed, and Bruce’s hold on her tightened tremendously as his eyes took on a dangerous gleam. “You _sacrificed_ yourself?” he growled, the pitch of his voice slightly inhuman.

She cringed as his voice caught the attention of everyone nearby, including the now resuscitated Thor. “Yeah, Jarvis wasn’t thrilled either,” she muttered, fresh tears beginning to leak.

“Why would you do that?! What were you thinking?!”

“‘What was I thinking?’” she quoted, her voice stabilizing as frustration welled up in her. “What do you think? The same thing I think every time I put myself on the line: People were in danger, and I could prevent it! I was saving lives! You know, that _thing_ I do!”

Bruce grit his teeth in frustration. She was right, and he knew it, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He had told her as much back when she first asked him if he hated her for working with S.H.I.E.L.D. _“I wouldn't say that I'm happy about it, but you're doing it for all the right reasons.”_ His own eyes began to shimmer. “I know that, but… But I couldn’t stand to lose you! I… I don’t know what I’d do with you!”

She choked up as her imagination conjured up an image of a broken spirited Bruce holding her dead body as he shoved a gun into his mouth, trying in vain to end it all and escape the pain but unable to die. _I hadn’t really, truly thought about how he would be affected, what I would be sentencing Bruce to by sacrificing myself. Yet they hit the water; they would have died if I hadn’t acted. Knowing that, if I could go back, unaware that I’d be saved… Would I do the same thing, or would I chose the heart of the man I love over somebody’s life?_ “I…” She felt the words in her heart before she spoke them, knowing that she was crossing a line at that moment, just as Nick Fury had done. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I swear I’ll never do anything like that again! I couldn’t bear to hurt you like that… If… if _our family_ is on the line, then I’ll still fight, but otherwise… I swear.” _I owe Fury an apology too_ , she admitted to herself. _I sat there and pretended I was better than him, that I could do the right thing in such a moment of crisis. I have a family now… A wonderful man who I love and who loves me in return, a… a_ little brother _I have to take care of, friends who care for me… For them, I would gladly put my life on the line — gladly forfeit my life. But only for them._ She sobbed as her legs gave out beneath her, but Bruce held her up— just as her family supported her when she needed it. _Only for them._ “I swear, love.”

Her words caused the tension in Bruce’s muscles to slowly ebb away, though his embrace tightened. Clint looked away from the intimate moment but had a knowing look in his eyes. _It was just a matter of time before the cost became too high. She’s not a machine — well, not entirely, anyway. She just wears one._

Fury, however, was less than thrilled by her statement, and his only visible eye opened up once more, a harsh light in it. “You think you can just walk away from this, Agent Stark? Walk away from S.H.I.E.L.D.? You told me you could accept the price you might have to pay, and I expect you to live up to that.”

Bruce growled ominously, his body tense once more, and Clint warily watched the two men for any sign of escalation. “The situation has changed, Director,” Megan answered, her voice finding strength now that she had admitted to herself what was the most important to her. She gently extricated herself from her lover’s arms and laid her hand on his cheek briefly before turning to face Fury. “If I’m being honest, it’s been changing for a while now. I’ve just been too stubborn and tunnelvisioned to admit it to myself. I’m leaving S.H.I.E.L.D.”

The director looked like he wanted to say more, but Odin suddenly joined the conversation, his eyes upon Megan as he moved over to the cluster of four. “Child, we have little time, and I must speak with you about the changes your body has been experiencing.”

Her eyes widened at that — contrary to Fury’s gaze, which narrowed considerably at Megan’s resignation and being interrupted before he could argue against it — but she ignored him in favor of the Allfather. “You’re referring to what happened when I was with Bruce in New York and the Captain on the helicarrier.”

“You have noticed it too then, father,” Thor said as he moved over to join them. “I know not of what occurred in this… New York? But I saw the events with the blue man myself.”

“Yes,” the Allfather simply replied before returning his attention to the woman before him. “I must apologize to you, child. When I took Mjölnir from Thor and banished them both to Midgard, I had thought only to teach my son a lesson. I am not omniscient; I did not foresee that a human worthy enough to claim the hammer would do so before him. I have never beheld such a situation before now, and as such, I can only speculate regarding what is happening to you.”

Megan paled at that, and Bruce closed the distance between her and him once more, encircling her in a comforting hug from behind. _He enchanted the hammer, and even he doesn’t know what’s wrong with me?_ “D-Do you at least have any… any _thoughts_ about what could be happening?”

“Based on your symptoms,” he replied, looking thoughtful, “I believe Thor’s power left its mark in you, and since that time, your body has begun to evolve, developing power that mirrors what Mjölnir granted you. I cannot say for certain, but you may find your body channels or generates electricity, that you are more durable, or perhaps that you now have the longevity of life we Asgardians enjoy. Any one or more, or none, of these things could become true over time.”

“Oh,” she managed to reply, flabbergasted at the idea of potentially of developing such traits. “So… There’s no chance that it’s going to … to kill me?” she added with a hopeful expression.

The Allfather gave her a light smile. “Should I feel it necessary, I shall send for you to be brought here for healing to prevent such a thing, but I find it unlikely that such action will be necessary. If anything, these symptoms indicate growth. Your body does not appear strained, from what I can discern, and is merely developing these newfound strengths.” His eyes diverted from hers, their gaze appearing distant, as if he were focused on something far away. “But now, you must prepare for battle with haste. Loki and those he has enslaved have reached your city of ‘New York,’ and are opening the portal for the Chitauri.”

Megan’s expression grew grim, and she reached up to grip her lover’s arm. “Pepper, Happy, and Danny are in the city.” She twisted her upper body and tilted her head back, sky blue meeting neon green. “We have to finish this, Bruce.”

“I know. Stop the alien invasion and _then_ retirement.”

She squeezed his forearm, a light grin tugging at her lips. “Well, retirement from the superhero business. I would totally go stir crazy if I retired from Stark Industries, which I’m sure would be just _delightful_ for you.” She returned her attention to the Allfather. “Thank you.” Nothing more needed to be said.

The wizened king of Asgard smiled faintly. “Good fortune to you, child.” He then swiftly turned to face the warriors three and Lady Sif, his cloak whipping about him, and said with a firm voice, “As you already know, you shall not have an army at your backs this day. I will not send our kingdom’s army to war against the unknown. Your decision to fight is your own; I shall not oppose it.”

The four Asgardians kneeled before their king and expressed their gratitude as Megan squeezed Bruce’s forearm one last time before gently prying his arms free from around her and calling out, “Jarvis! Let’s suit up.” One of the two suits burst apart in a flurry of parts that all zoomed towards her as she held out her arms with a light-hearted smirk. Her boots came first, slowly lifting her into the air as the remaining parts latched themselves around her one or two at a time, assembling once more into the form of her latest and greatest armor. Once her goggles and helmet found their proper place, she killed the boot thrusters, allowing herself to drop to the bridge with a clang that reverberated against the metal housing of the Bifrost, her eye slits burning red. _That’ll never get old. Well, until I make a better version, but_ that’s _a given._ Together with her lover, the Iron Woman turned her gaze to the rest of the ragtag team — to the rest of the unofficial Avengers. Thor, the god of thunder and wielder of the great hammer Mjölnir. Black Widow, the deadliest spy on Earth. Captain America, the greatest soldier to ever live. Hawkeye, the perfect archer who never missed a shot. “We have a city to save.”

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 03:57p, EST | Times Square, NYC**

Loki watched the chaotic scene unfolding before him, a toothy smile gracing his face. Nearby, the Chitauri poured forth from the portal without hesitation, descending upon the great city below like a swarm of locusts and leaving destruction in their wake. Joining them upon the ground where the controlled, who played deadly games of deceit with their fellow, uncontrolled humans by pretending to belong to them and killing without mercy once they had made their way into the heart of the various human efforts to save civilians. The Leviathans flew overhead, wreaking havoc upon buildings and other large structures by ramming them. Only one building remained untouched by the slowly expanding circle of death — Stark Tower, upon which the Tesseract and its stabilizing array were stationed.

This detail had escaped neither Danny’s nor Jarvis’ attention, and while the latter had attempted to dissuade the former, the teenager had nevertheless made his way to the roof of Stark Tower. _Just like the security cameras showed_ , he thought to himself as he peered out of the small gap he’d made by cracking open the door to the emergency stairwell. _They’ve only got two people up here, and the only one who’s armed is guarding the elevator._ He carefully pushed the door open far enough for him to slip through, shut it just as carefully, then slowly made his way over to the spot he’d chosen earlier while reviewing the security feed — a spot quite close to the guard but still out of sight of the roof’s occupants. Once there, he withdrew the high powered taser he’d retrieved from Megan’s purse at Jarvis’ insistence and direction ( _“Sir, if you insist on this fool’s errand, then at least take protection!”_ ) and aimed it at the man’s back. _Okay, Danny, you can do this_ , the teenager internally coached. _The taser’s single shot, so knock out the guard, then take the guard’s gun and shoot the other guy once in the leg. You just have to disable them! Here we go in 3… 2… 1…_ NOW _!_

The end of the gun-like device shot out, the wires attached to the guard’s back and zapping him into unconsciousness. Danny made to dash forward and snatch up the dropped rifle but slipped on the loose footing in his haste and smashed his head sideways into the gravel. The dazed teenager made a valiant effort to still grab the rifle, but Erik Selvig kicked the weapon just before the brunette’s fingers closed around the handle. “A gun won’t stop this,” the controlled astrophysicist commented lightly as he brutally stomped his boot down on the teenager’s wrist, snapping it and eliciting a pained cry from his victim, “but still, I’d just as soon not let you have one.” Danny screamed, his control over the pitch of his voice slipping entirely as the scientist lifted his foot up and slammed it back down and ground it about. “Who sent you?”

“No one!” the teenager wailed honestly before releasing another pained scream as the blonde kicked him viciously in the stomach hard enough to knock him a couple feet away.

“You really shouldn’t lie,” Erik drawled as he slowly moved over to the whimpering Danny, who had his eyes clenched shut against the searing pain in his wrist and ribs. “I’ll just break more bones until you tell the truth.”

“No one sent me!” the brunette pitifully moaned, his voice cracking. “I’m telling the _truth_!”

The blonde tsked as he reached the fallen teenager, but before he could so much as lift his boot, a pillar of rainbow light descended from the heavens and crashed into the roof, sending gravel flying. “No!” the astrophysicist cried, his attention moving entirely to the Bifrost connection. Knowing he wouldn’t get another chance, Danny ignored his body’s pleas to stay still and snapped his foot out, kicking the scientist’s legs out from under him. The man crashed to the rooftop, his head slamming against it, but miraculously stayed conscious as the unnatural hue in his eyes faded away. Danny, however, could stay awake no longer and blacked out as he succumbed to the pain.

“ _Danny_!” Megan shouted in panic when she saw the teenager’s fallen form and the unnatural bend of his wrist. She was at the brunette’s side in an instant, carefully checking on his condition from a position that allowed her to do so while also keeping an eye on Erik. She growled as her diagnostics located internal bleeding centered at the boy’s broken rib and immediately scooped him up into her arms.

“Stark!” the Captain barked out. “We don’t have time to focus on individuals! There’s a massacre going on around us!”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me back in Asgard, Rogers!” she snarled back. “My family comes first for me from now on. If you have a problem with that, then _bite me_! I’ll be back _after_ I get him medical attention!” _I really don’t want to risk exacerbating his injuries in the Bifrost, but there’s nowhere nearby I can take him where I know he’ll be safe, and if their medicine is advanced enough to make Heimdall as good as new after the injuries he sustained last May…_ Without waiting for a response from the super soldier, she turned her face to the heavens and called out, “Heimdall!” Within moments, the pillar of light had descended once more, whisking her and Danny off to Asgard.

The Cap brought his focus back to the four people around him. “Hawkeye, take a look around and pick a good vantage point where you can provide sniper support. Keep your eyes on everything, and call out patterns and strays. Thor, take him to that place, then you’ve got to try and bottleneck that portal. You’ve got the lightning; light the bastards up. Widow…” The super soldier’s eyes darted over to the array housing the Tesseract then down to the blonde haired scientist who was slowly pushing himself up off the ground. “Interrogate Selvig and see if he knows how to close the portal altogether. Report your findings, and we’ll go from there. I’ll do what I can on the ground. And Hulk.” The soldier’s steel blue eyes found the scientist’s neon green. “Smash.”

Bruce snorted, but without further ado, he bolted towards the edge of the rooftop and threw himself over it without so much as a second glance. Hawkeye raced over to the edge as well, but rather than make an impromptu freefall dive, he began scanning the nearby structures that still stood for the best vantage point. Thor moved to his side, inquiring, “Have you found a suitable location?” When the sharpshooter pointed out where he wanted to go, the thunder god scooped him up and flung himself into flight with his hammer. And as the Cap raced over to the elevator, Widow set about her task.

“Doctor Selvig,” the red-headed femme fatale said, her speech clipped as she withdrew one of her pistols and aimed it at the man’s foot. “You heard the Captain. We don’t have a lot of time, so what’s it going to be? Easy way or hard way?”

The astrophysicist, who had managed to maneuver himself into a seated position, raised his hands in surrender. “Loki’s scepter,” he dutifully reported. “The energy… The Tesseract can’t fight — can’t protect against itself. The scepter is a safety to cut the power source.”

The Russian spy’s gaze bore deeply into the blonde’s for a long moment before she suddenly smirked. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

The rainbow bridge connected with the rooftop once more as the spy relayed her information, concluding with, “Iron is back. I’ll hitch a ride down with her. Orders for us from there?”

Lightning tore across the sky as Thor called down a bolt, built up a charge, then released it all upon the Chitauri forces flying through the portal. “St— _Iron_ ,” the Cap replied through the communication line, “Do you think you could find and neutralize whoever’s controlling the regular humans?”

The watch upon the wrist of the fallen guard lit up in Iron’s HUD. “I’m detecting a signal being directed to this device,” Jarvis reported. “Tracing it now.”

“Jarvis is finding the target now,” she answered. “I'll neutralize the threat once he’s determined the location.”

“Then change of plans, Thor,” the Cap replied. “Find your brother, retrieve the scepter, and use it to close the portal. Iron, bring Widow to my position — intersection of 46th and 8th. After that, try to maintain a perimeter until you get the target from Jarvis. Our priorities cutting off reinforcements and freeing the thralls. We’ll worry about fighting the Chitauri that are already here at that point. Make it happen.”

Iron grabbed Widow by the waist. “Better clench up, spider girl.”

“Ma’am, I have an origin for the signals,” Jarvis announced as she deposited the spy with the Cap, her appearance distinctly rumpled by the brief flight over and her countenance more than a little miffed from being called ‘spider girl.’ “Target is in a S.H.I.E.L.D. VTOL and heading southwest.”

“I’ve got a target, Cap,” she relayed as she blasted away several approaching Chitauri. “I’m going now.” She burst into the air and sped towards the marker on her HUD, her air flaps and hand and feet repulsors both active as the Mark V rapidly accelerated to its maximum speed — Mach 3. _I’d ask Heimdall to whisk me over there, but it’d almost certainly take a bit of time to point out the right target — especially since it’s a moving one._ “Do whatever you can to slow down that VTOL, J. Hell, if you _can_ , take control of it. We need to end this ASAP; Pepper, at the very least, has one of those godforsaken watches on her.”

The world whizzed by her in a blur of colors as she tore through the skies in pursuit of her fleeing target. After a moment, her AI intoned, “I’ve successfully brought the craft to a halt, ma’am. Internal monitoring indicates that the signal is originating from Basil Sandhurst, specifically from a device resembling a hearing aid secured around his left ear. A pilot and two guards, who are armed with assault rifles, are in the vehicle with him.”

 _The armed guards won’t be a problem. Seems easy enough. Loki really must have believed he’d dealt with us thoroughly on the helicarrier. Still, to be safe:_ “J, divert the suit’s communications signal to blocking the thrall’s discs on a local level. Let’s keep this extraction as smooth as possible.”

“Done,” Jarvis noted. Up ahead, a small dot began to rapidly approach as her speeding form swooped towards the unmoving craft. “Opening the rear hatch now.”

Her black and gold armor rapidly decelerated, allowing her to land on the ramp without disturbing the vehicle. Inside, the two armed guards had turned on the unmistakable Sandhurst, who had been caught off guard by the muzzles suddenly directed at his face. “It’s over, Sandhurst,” Iron proclaimed, her faceplate snapping open as she primed her hand repulsors and aimed them at him. “Slowly remove the earpiece in your left ear. _Now_.”

The unnatural blue eyes of the Controller grew defiant as he ducked and swept his leg out at one of the guards while simultaneously reaching out at the other guard in an attempt to grab his rifle. He was not, however, dealing with the untrained. The latter guard expertly kept his rifle out of the man’s grasp and brought it to bear on the man’s head as the other guard kicked out while falling and brought the Controller down with him. Iron had charged forward the instant she saw he what he was doing and deftly snatched the earpiece away. “J, get comms back up,” she said as she crushed the device in her metal grip. “The thralls should be free now.”

“Communications restored,” her AI intoned a split second before Fury’s voice filled her helmet. “Stark! I said _do you copy_?!”

“I hear you, Fury,” she replied as she helped the fallen guard up. “Sandhurst has been neutralized and is in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody.”

“There’s a nuclear missile heading straight for Manhattan!” the director shouted, causing the petite genius to pale considerably. “You’ve got a minute before it goes off!”

“ _Fuck_!” she cried as she jumped clear of the craft, her faceplate snapping into place. “Heimdall!”

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 04:23p, EST | Stark Tower, NYC**

Thor deposited his hammer on the fallen form of Loki, holding the trickster god securely in place against the viewing deck of Stark Tower, as he retrieved the scepter that he had managed to knock away in the course of their battle. “ _Damn you_!” the struggling Asgardian cried as he attempted to free himself. “You think this is over, ‘ _brother_ ’?! You cannot stop this! Your precious Earth will be overrun!”

The thunder god turned his gaze to Loki as he picked up the fallen scepter. “I am sure your benefactor will attempt it,” he replied, “but he shall fail. The humans are stronger than you think, and they will protect this world from those who seek it.” He brought his hand up to the communicator the Captain had taken from one of the helicarrier’s bridge crew and given to him while in Asgard, recalling the man’s instructions on how to use it. “Blue man,” he said into it as he pressed the right button, his eyes drawn to the rainbow light of the Bifrost that descended nearby and the black and gold form that shot out of it like a bullet. “I have the scepter and have trapped Loki, but I am grounded.”

“That’s not going to do us any good if that missile hits us!” the Captain tersely replied.

“I’m handling the missile,” Iron’s voice announced over the line. “I’ll have to give it all my remaining power, but I should be able to redirect it into the portal. Thor, a suit’s going to come by and take you to the roof. Close that portal as soon as I get the missile through.” She rapidly changed course just before the missile passed by and, once she had moved herself beneath it and facing up, grabbed it and redirected her flight systems to pushing upwards in an arch towards the portal still open in the sky.

“That could be a one way trip,” the Captain noted as the unmanned Mark V reached Thor, grabbed him, and flew him the short distance from the viewing deck up to the roof.

“It won’t be,” she firmly replied, strain evident as she gave the last of her suit’s power to redirecting the missile. On the ground, the Hulk paused his rampage to gaze up at her as the other suit, free of its burden, swiftly moved to meet her. The missile finally aimed into the portal and her suit’s energy nearly spent, she ejected through the back. She twisted in the air to face the portal, spread her limbs wide to slow her fall, and twitched her muscles. “Thank heavens,” she murmured to herself as the sole remaining Mark V assembled itself around her. “Dealt with the portal _and_ I avoided freefalling for the… fourth? Yeah fourth. _Fourth_ time today. I am _so_ over falling.” She turned her gaze to the ground, expecting the battle to still be raging, but found the Chitauri had collapsed. “Oh hey. Win!”

A flash of green in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She activated her flight systems and shot towards her beau, who was currently being encircled by wary riot police. “Back off!” she shouted as she slammed into the ground next to him, catching the officers off guard.

“Please back away from the monster, ma’am!” one of the braver men called out in reply. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with!”

She didn’t bother to reply and instead ejected out of her armor, casually closed the short distance between herself and the Hulk, and gave his leg as good a hug as she could do given the substantial difference in their body sizes. “Hey there, my beloved green wyrm. The battle’s over now. Calm down for me, please?” The police watched with pure awe as the green giant slowly began to shrink, eventually becoming a normal man once more, albeit with startlingly neon green eyes. “Thanks, honey. You did great.”

Bruce blinked somewhat as he regained his senses before slowly noting, a bemused smile crossing his lips, “Did you call me your ‘beloved green wyrm’ just now? Because I think I remember that.”

She gave him a brilliant smile that, in his eyes, really accentuated her unique beauty. “Yes, I did,” she replied, her sky blue orbs alight with mirth. “I, your knight in shining armor, couldn’t very well let the big, bad policemen do anything bad to you!”

He laughed, and she pushed herself up onto her tip toes to capture his lips in a kiss. Nearby, one of the riot police muttered to the man next to him, “Weirdest. Day. Ever.”

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 7:13p, EST (Earth Time) | Asgard**

Danny flinched mightily the moment he awoke, his breathing suddenly ragged as he unconsciously clutched his (now mended) wrist to his chest. “I’m telling the truth!” he cried out before his brain processed the change in location around him and the now startled pair seated next to his bed. “I… err… What?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Megan quipped back after taking a moment to collect herself after the sudden outburst, “but I’m going to go out on a limb and answer the question I think you were trying to ask just now. Yes, the battle’s over. Yes, we’re all safe.” In fact, the battle had been over for hours. Basil Sandhurst had been brought to the Triskelion by the S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel Megan had left him with earlier. Thor had retrieved his hammer and Loki, who had been less than thrilled to have been beaten by having a hammer laid on top of him, and together with Megan and Bruce had traveled back to Asgard; the former to secure his brother and the latter two to retrieve Danny.

The brunette blinked at that. “Oh. Well that’s good,” he murmured, earning an amused look from her and Bruce, who was sitting next to her. He glanced around, noting the opulence of their surroundings. “Where are we?”

“Asgard. Yes — _that_ Asgard,” Bruce replied. “And before you ask, I’m Bruce. Sorry for not introducing earlier today, but I daresay we’ve all had a rough day,” he added with a light grin.

The petite genius snorted and rolled her eyes. “Total understatement.” She then paused for a moment before giving the teen an unreadable expression as she murmured, “It’s still not too late to say you want out of all the crazy, Danny. I wouldn’t blame you.”

He gave it an honest moment’s thought, his gaze flicking briefly to the wrist that Erik Selvig had curb stomped as his other hand gently prodded at the previously broken rib. “Nope,” he replied after a moment. “I won’t deny that this day was all _kinds_  of crazy, but you’re still stuck with me.” His eyes began to intently study his lap, as if he’d never seen it before in his life. “If, err, you know… _You_ still want me.”

“Summer’s not in the meadow yet, nor is the valley hushed and white with snow,” she softly replied as she rose from her seat and encircled him with her arms. “But Danny boy, I love you so.”

Danny valiantly attempted to hold back his tears — succeeding enough to only have watery eyes — but there was no mistaking happiness in his voice as her murmured, “I love you too, sis.”

Megan’s eyes widened comically, which Bruce was just barely able to see from his position. “Oh, Danny,” she tearfully replied before she realized that she had just set herself up for:

“Boy?” Bruce helpfully added, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Megan groaned, the two males joined in laughter at her expense as she flopped backwards over the teen’s legs and covered her reddening face with her arm. “Walked right into that, Meg,” she berated herself, a small smile growing on her lips. _‘Sis…’_

* * *

**Wednesday, March 16th, 2005 @ 10:59a, EST | The Triskelion**

“I said it before, and I’m going to say it again,” Fury tersely said as Megan laid her S.H.I.E.L.D. ID badge on the man’s desk. “You think you can just walk away from this, Agent Stark? Walk away from S.H.I.E.L.D?”

The petite genius — who was neatly dressed in a suit, having felt the urge to be formal in her resignation — gave the director a frustrated look. “Yes and no. I’ve no doubt that I _will_ walk away from this, but I likewise suspect that you will do everything in your power to find a way to suck me back in. I sincerely hope you won’t, but I know you. And _you_ know _me_ : I haven’t given up on saving the world. I’m just going to be taking a different route to get there — one that _doesn’t_ put myself into danger on a regular basis. You’re still welcome to consult me regarding updating your technology (“I already have a ton of ideas, in fact.”), but I refuse to take part in fieldwork. Besides, the first name ‘Agent’ doesn't really capture my vivacious, endearing personality quite like ‘Megan’ does.”

The two engaged in a staring contest for a time, both waiting for the other to move first. This was a turning point, a line to be crossed, and they both refused to back down. _It’s been a hell of a journey_ , she thought to herself. _It’s hard to believe that I used to be that naïve girl the Ten Rings captured, that girl who knew nothing of miniaturized arc reactors, backstabbing mentors, the feel of killing another human being, losing one’s leg, falling in love, vengeful progenies of my dad’s old partner, mind-controllers, real Norse gods, alien realms, becoming more than human… Of having a family to both be protected by_ and _to protect._ She turned away and moved to the door without a single glance back.

As she grabbed the door handle, Fury finally said, “And if the world gets into a situation like this again?”

Megan scoffed, casting an indignant look over her shoulder. “Stop being ridiculous. Do you really think your agency is so pivotal that I wouldn’t have fought Loki, Sandhurst, and the Chitauri if I hadn’t been a part of S.H.I.E.L.D.? Get off your high horse. I, like you, live on the planet Earth, and would be less than thrilled if someone tried to trash it. I’m not invincible — I’m not going to keep actively seeking out trouble. I’m just going to deal with whatever trouble finds its way to me and my family.” And without another word, she twisted the handle and swept out of Fury’s office.

“Thanks, Happy,” she murmured as he opened the door to the waiting car for her. She slipped into the vehicle and, once her bodyguard had shut the door and begun making his way back around to the driver’s side, she retrieved her phone and returned to the last task she felt she needed to handle before she could truly feel like everything was resolved: Reviewing the dossier on Ghost that she’d copied last May.

* * *

**Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 @ 05:42a, EST | Brooklyn, NYC, an alley**

Eric Savin watched smugly as the white and gray armored figure slid out of a nearby wall and moved to join him. Savin lightly rapped against the windowless side of the black van next to him, commenting, “In here, please.”

“Stark doubtlessly has a tracking device in the suit,” the distorted voice replied. “Once I restore its tangibility, you are on your own.”

“Please give us some credit,” Ellen Brandt replied as she leaned out the driver side window of the van. “We’ve prepared for that.”

“As you say,” Ghost concluded before phasing through the side of the van, making the suit solid once more as he put in place, and abruptly departing through the same wall he’d emerged from.

Savin quirked an eyebrow at the behavior but quickly recovered, moved to the passenger side of the van, and joined Brandt in the van. “So what does this Ghost guy get out of this deal anyway?” he asked the tanned redhead beside him as she shifted the vehicle into gear and swiftly joined the traffic flow.

“I heard from the boss that he hates corporations and the people who run them, and Stark’s just the most recent name to come up on his hit list.”

“Hit list? No. Don’t you read the news? There was some crazy fight outside Stark’s tower, but she’s apparently still alive.”

Brandt shot her companion a dirty look. “Yes, I read the news, you prick. I just hadn’t seen that yet.”

“Sure sure,” the man smugly replied with a grin, as he propped his feet up on the dashboard and leaned his shaved head back into the seat’s headrest. “Still, that doesn’t explain why he’s helping _us_. He doesn’t seem like the type to take a job without knowing the dirty secrets of the employer, and with that armor of his, he surely could’ve found something explaining that the Ten Rings is just a front for A.I.M.”

“Hell if I know, Savin,” she quipped. “The boss knows what he’s doing. Let’s just get this thing back to Miami without any trouble, yeah? Now get your feet off the dash; I can’t see my fucking mirror.”


	18. Preview of the Sequel: Incorruptible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Invincible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

**Invincible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
 _Preview of the Sequel: Incorruptible_

* * *

“You’ve used that terminology a couple of times now: ‘Be yourself,’” Megan remarked, her head cocked slightly to the side, her curiosity evident. “Tell me, Loki, who do  _you_ think I am?”

The Asgardian steepled his hands in front of himself, taking a moment to carefully consider his choice of words, before replying, “You are a female spirit trapped within a body that repulses you so much that you cannot bear to be touched. Your spirit cries out, desperately pleading for you to feel touch upon your true self once more — to shed this lie you have been forced into. You have done your best to deal with being thrust into this form, done your best to return yourself to normal, but it affects you so much that you have become trapped in a perpetuating circle. Needing to be yourself again, but unable to make it happen because you are not. Even what you are experiencing now is a temporary reprieve. You feel better because you are interacting with me, someone who knows you for who you are, but eventually, the feeling will be tempered by the truth of your situation, which will grow ever more unavoidable.” He paused. “Simply put, you are someone who will invariably die unless someone helps you.”

The duo sat there in silence for a time, Megan’s eyes locked onto his, boring into them as though the truth of his words could be ascertained if she merely stared into them long enough. She was losing herself in a sea of pale green, his words washing over and through her, his baritone voice piercing straight to her core. _I don’t want to go back to that._ “Loki,” she breathed out, now aware that her words were spoken by her true, soprano voice. “I don’t want to die.” She bit her lip softly, her conflict evident. Her upper teeth rubbed briefly against the skin beneath her bottom lip, revealing that her face was once again free of the course beard it had born for so long. The word danced from her lips: “Please…”

A toothy smile began to grow on the Asgardian’s lips. _Almost._ “Please what, Megan?”

She whined softly at his use of her name, reveling in the fact that for the first time in nigh half a year _someone_ saw her as herself. She wrapped her arms around herself, reveling in the feeling of the return of her voice’s true timbre — of the return of her petite frame. _Gods, I don’t care if it_ is _an illusion._ “Please, Loki… Help me… I don’t want to go back.”

“That, Megan, is why I am here.”

* * *

_Invincible_ has ended, but it’s just one part of the  _Inverse_ universe. The story continues in  _Incorruptible._


End file.
